#and the thing does Not get any cleaner
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it sucks so much to be squeamish because i hate it when things are gross but i’m also unable to clean them up because if i get too close i Will throw up
#icarus speaks#tw emetophobia#IT SUCKS SO BAD#it’s a constant loop of -> i wanna clean that -> i try to clean that -> i am unable to and nearly vomit#and the thing does Not get any cleaner
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The sudden increase in bird people bringing their birds in to not pet friendly places is…. Concerning
#a pet being small or atypical does not exempt it from laws#even disregarding that point (#cause let’s be honest they don’t care)#do you have any idea how many scented products harsh cleaners and other highly toxic things are in most stores#why would you even want to bring your bird there#they’re always stressed out of their minds too#like it’s abundantly clear that your pet is not your priority#the attention you get from it is all you care about
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Me, like a month ago: “hey baby boy, I got you cat food formulated for seniors because your lazy old man ass has been putting on some weight”
my cat, twice since then: “I’m going to have a day where I am soooo sick and you are going to have to guess why. Especially since there will be a over a week of me being normal in between”
Me, waking up to cat crying noises and then vomiting: “fuck! Was that not a one time thing?!”
My cat, continuing to be sick: “mother. Something is amiss”
Me: I really hope it’s not the new food, that shit wasn’t super cheap and you seemed like it was doing better for you! But I also hope it’s not something worse. You’re going to HATE going to the vet tomorrow.
#emma posts#idk what’s wrong but it’s not pretty#and I hate seeing my little boy sick#i can’t believe he eats cheap junk food version of cat food and does fine but when i try getting him better stuff#he might be sick#I have literally changed him from one cheap junk food to another without even transitioning between the two properly because they were out#of the first one. but I try giving him good stuff and he’s upset#this happened when i tried to give him healthier treats too#and those were also made for senior cats#he will eat any food willingly and eat the expensive stuff more eagerly#but his taste isn’t the only thing that composes his digestive system 😬#tmi#gross#sick cat#I ordered a carpet cleaner today#after two particularly bad days I’m not gonna live without one#and it’s the start of the month so I don’t have to worry about affording it… provided I get the 130ish one#hopefully I won’t need it as much by then though and the vet solves the problem#he is my everything#my little baby boy#and he adores me more than he does any other human#and he’s a relatively friendly guy#he’s attached to my hip and he’s otherwise perfectly healthy#he’s turning 13 this year though so I’m starting to get more anxiety every time he gets sick. even though he’s otherwise healthier than#a lot of cats his age. the cat he grew up with (one of my brother’s cats) has way more issues#i guess i take that for granted sometimes. I’m always thinking about that though. usually out of concern for the other cat but sometimes I#think about mine. who until recently lived pretty much the same way as his fellow senior cat. but I’ve always paid more attention than my#brother does to his and I took my guy with me when I moved out. it’s been harder on the other guy#his human being more indifferent I suppose. he has anxiety issues now as well#I hate to take my baby anywhere but the vet in the vet carrier but it’s easier to clean and I’m going to visit my parents for the weekend
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sitting there like has my art gotten better over time or do I just add way too much unnecessary detail now
#but lineart becomes honestly really meditative for me at times especially if im adding texture to something#i will say at least i dont pick such ugly colors anymore. i used to always have reslly bright colors and then i thought it was too much#and overcorrected imo so everything was desaturated and boring#oh i also used to color in the lines for like every single color on the character? idk how to describe it but it was tedious#i like it on other people's art but i dont have the patience and i dont like how it looks when my lines are “cleaner”#sometimes i do miss how i used to not care if what i drew was “cringy”#but i think im coming back out of that considering all i draw is like. gay shit and elves and various iterations of myself and also my ocs#i should redraw some really really old art after what im working on maybe#i almost started working on a redraw of when i drew yavanna in likr 2017-18 but i dont like the design i gave her at all#minus the weird branch ears those were cool#mostly im just frustrated it still takes me hours to draw lol. i dont know why i get insecure about it or about art in general#i guess bc no one in my family really does so they have this idea im good at it#and i wanna grab them and shake them sometimes and explain all the reasons im actually not and all the mistakes i regularly make#i dont know if that makes any sense and i dont know why i struggle to just take the compliment#i guess because i know im not good enough at it for it to be a job? except thats not it either because ive almost always wanted to write#its very dumb and weird. especially considering i dont really draw for other people. i mean i like when people like my art but unless its#for somebody specific im not necessarily going to take it very hard at all if its not to their taste. i just do it because i enjoy it#and because there are things i only know how to express through writing or drawing. and when one doesnt work sometimes its the other#maybe i just get frustrated i cant be good at everything#its not realistic but i always end up wanting to do so many things and getting frustrated when i dont pick them up right away#because OF COURSE i dont#ok where was i going with this#its nearly 2am and my head is pounding again i dont even know what day this makes it. at least a week?#i dont know
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renaissance man (p. js)
Taking note of the strangers you see day to day isn’t something you’d normally do. The only reason today is different is because the guy who made small talk as he rang you up for your intimate items was the same guy who showed up catering for your family reunion. or the one where jay is a dildo salesman, a caterer, a self-titled mechanic, and also your ride home. he is not an expert in any of his jobs, but he sure is an expert in wit and well, other things.
minors dni!! | pls reblog to show your support!
WORDCOUNT― 14.6k
PAIRING― park jongseong x afab reader
CONTENT― fluffy comfort smut, strangers to lovers like immediately, you buy a monster sized dildo, blatant talking of masturbation and toys, smut, cliche blooming an attachment to someone after (1) fuckening.
!!ATTENTION!!― read this before? that’s because I run two blogs and like to re-vamp fics i’ve previously written for other groups! [@/ncteez is likely where you’ve read it from. THAT IS ME!!!]
smut tags under cut::
smut tags― it’s kind of fluffy im so sorry i just have feelings for him, average cock size jay!!!![i am not of this belief, i think his cock is fat and huge], he is very much a service top, making out, hand holding, caressing, grinding, finger fucking, titty worship, unprotected sex, sweet talking as a form of dirty talk, missionary bc i refuse to pretend he wouldn’t want that, back scratches (sexual)
・・・・・・・・・・・・・・
Never have you been put in the position to make small talk about the sex toys you place on a counter to purchase. Then again, you guess it’s part of the job description that most people ignore or aren’t privy to actually doing.
Never have you been informed of the wide variety of lubricants, additional toy-cleaners, or the bigger and smaller alternatives to your chosen toy. You don’t show discomfort though, because it’s not uncomfortable. Sex is normal, masturbation is more normal, and the man in front of you appears to be normal too.
“There’s twelve different color variants if you prefer something less fleshy.” The man says, standing at the counter with some sort of a permanent pout on his lips.
“I’m fine, if you could just ring me up now I can get out of your hair.” You respond, glancing at the time on your phone and wondering how you got stuck with the only employee who actually does his job here.
“Are you sure you don’t want any lubricant?” The man adds, gazing at the size of your toy and then looking you up and down as if you clearly wouldn’t be able to handle your chosen toy without help.
The man with no name tag appears to be blissfully unaware of his invasiveness with that question as you tilt your head with a raised brow. Shocked at the very question, it’s actually quite laughable that he’s so monotone with the offensive comment. You imagine he’s done this for so long that he must be a manager trying to get the day over with, going through the steps in a bored mood with little to no regard as to how he must sound to strangers buying their first or twentieth dildo.
With your assumption that he doesn’t exactly care about the level of wet your vagina is when you use this toy, you respond. “I think I know my body well enough and I already have lube, but thanks.”
He nods, not even sparing you much of a glance before giving you a total and bagging your item.
Now, despite Jay’s lack of interest toward the purchase of toys, he finds it comical that he’s grown numb to the very fact that he knows what everyone in this town’s kinks are after they step out of the shop’s door. Someone’s gotta do this job and keep those secrets…he likes to think he fits the bill perfectly.
Lively as he may be outside of this shop, each job comes with a personality and this one calls for one of disinterest in your product but interest in the sale. He’s not one to lie to himself though, many times a pretty girl has marched in and bought toys far bigger than any man and he does tend to let his mind wander about it from time to time. When he first started this job, bright eyed and bushy-tailed, he found it hard to navigate a single sale without a flush of tints crossing his cheeks and ears. Now, he’s become a veteran at keeping his dick locked in place if he were to feel some type of way about a purchase and the one purchasing.
Shy as he was when he started, it’s all lost now as he handles dicks and dongs, pocket pussies and anal plugs, even whips and chains.
Shy. That’s definitely a word and surprisingly one that can describe him when he’s not on schedule within these walls of alien dicks and lime flavored lube to match the grotesque green color. At his other job, because he works two, he takes the praise of being the charming yet timid man who shows up with pans of food for events.
The guests seem to love him and many times during weddings and company parties he has been offered phone numbers or asked for one simply because he appears to be that of a friendly face with a kind sense of being. Someone you’d wanna bring home to mom, some might say.
It’s a stark contrast of jobs, and somehow he’s managed to dodge knowing many of the people coming into his night job to shop for ways to fuck themselves. The rare time it had happened, he was thankful to have another person in the shop to ring them up. Keeping up with two jobs is hard, and keeping up with two personalities is even harder.
・・・・・・・・・・・・・・
You hadn't thought of that guy from the sex shop even once until he showed his face at your family reunion.
He noticed you before you managed to realize it was him though. Stealing looks in your direction as you chat with little cousins and elder aunts and uncles, mostly to double check in his brain if you’re really the girl who showed up and nonchalantly bought the newest dildo in stock. The fleshy colored one with rotating beads and a g-spot stimulator button. You know, the really fucking huge one.
Upon meeting his eye again for the first time, he could tell it really is you, simply because of the way you furrow your brow as you recognize him.
Jay couldn’t help but smirk. He knew that eventually someone at an event would recognize him as their local sex-shop manager, he’s actually shocked it doesn’t happen more often. At least it’s you though, a woman who looks near his age and clearly has a very healthy relationship with her sexuality. So much so that you weren’t shy or nervous in buying the toy from him. Because it’s honestly pretty common to see someone nervous or uncomfortable while buying items far less telling than the one you bought.
His smirk doesn’t go unnoticed by you before you look away from him and focus your attention back to your family and by the time he’s prepared the food and is standing aside to explain what ingredients the dishes have, you’re walking up with your empty plate and an awkward glance.
He follows you down the line of dishes, seemingly more interested in you than anyone else. You could argue it’s just an attempt to make you feel embarrassed, or perhaps even an attempt to ask you not to snitch on where else he works to make his money.
“Do I know you from somewhere?” You ask, a knowing look telling him that you’re already very aware of that ‘somewhere’ you know him from.
His pursed lips and snide hidden laugh at you is one thing, but the way he whispers to you over a pan of potato casserole is another.
“I think you know who I am.” He says, crossing his arms as he leans back again with a flicker of a crooked grin.
You leave it at that, looking him in the eye curiously and for some reason, smiling back at the strange second encounter with a man who appears to have a name tag now.
“Thanks, Jay. See you around.”
Heading away from the tables of food and toward the table that contains all of your favorite cousins, you are immediately bombarded with a raised brow from one of them. Ah, nosy.
“What was that about?” One of them leans over to ask, glancing at the man who is still overseeing the table of food and maintaining perfect temperatures. She doesn’t quite catch the way Jay’s eyes flicker back to you, over and over again, repeatedly.
“Huh? He was just telling me what was in the potatoes.”
She takes your answer as truth without issue, and the conversation falls away and into something else. College life, job life, family life.
・・・・・・・・・・・・・・
Okay so, you’re trying to hear yourself out here. Are you somehow curious and interested in speaking with Jay? Yeah. Do you know why? Also yes. For one, he just sold you a fucking interesting sex toy last weekend in the most uncomfortable way possible, and now he’s here at your family reunion to remind you of what you do in your apartment when you’re alone.
His personality seems different this time too. He wasn’t monotone, he was snide with you about knowing who you are. He probably thinks its funny that he ended up at your family reunion over any other event.
So yeah, maybe you find yourself going up to the table for seconds even though you’re no longer hungry. Maybe you definitely wait until no one else is at the table and he appears to be tidying up the space and wiping up spills before speaking to him again.
“Just how many jobs do you have?” You ask in a sarcastic tone when you reach him, the table between the two of you creating a comfortable distance to poke and prod.
He jumps only slightly at your presence because he didn’t notice you walking up. The brief break he’s taken from stealing glances so he could actually do his jobs appears to be the time you feel the need to finally approach. Still, he’s smiling again, looking at you up and down.
“Plenty. How much lube do you have left?” He answers before shooting back his own question and getting right to the point.
You freeze in shock at his question, reminding yourself that his monotone voice from the late dildo purchase is no more and he now comes across as vibrant and charming to you. You check him out for a moment, taking mental notes of what may not or may not be to like about him. You can’t tell if it’s good news or bad news that you’re not finding anything to raise any red flags.
He’s bold, confidence, charming, clearly has a decent work ethic–
“I can’t imagine you have much left, that thing was a fucking monster. We have tons in stock if you wanna–” He pauses to cover his mouth, forgetting that he’s supposed to be timid and gentle during his day job. He’s not supposed to be himself.
You find yourself laughing though, leaning over the table and holding out your empty plate. Mostly just to get in closer to him without alerting your family of a new future husband or something.
“Why are you so interested in my ‘fucking monster”’ dildos anyway?” You narrow your eyes.
He pauses, easing up at the way you’re just as cheeky and playful as he is, despite being surrounded by your family. It’s mildly inappropriate, but it’s making his shift go by quickly. You’re making his shift enjoyable today, so he continues.
“I think anyone would be interested, with all things considered.” He checks you out again with a brief pause, knowing the size of that dildo you bought by heart, and fully aware that it probably ripped you in half if you really managed to put that thing anywhere inside of you. “Correction, they should be worried.”
“You’re different from before,” you comment, both of you now blatantly staring down each other. “I like this version of you more.”
Something inside of him feels giddy at that. Not to be cliche but he wonders if this is what it’s like to instantly have a crush on someone. Again, he’s not one to lie to himself. You’re pretty and you appear to be confident. Confident enough to take time from your family reunion to have a discussion about your plastic cock intake anyway.
“Maybe I’ll see you again sometime then.” He puts a hand forward, inviting you to shake it but you simply stare it down instead.
“Yeah, maybe you will.” You smile, slapping his hand as if you’re low fiving him before swirling around and walking away thinking hard about the fact that…yeah, he might actually see you sooner than he thinks.
Honestly, maybe within the next day or two because he was kind of right to ask about how much lube you have left, but it’s not like you’d answer that truthfully if at all. You might be running out after just two uses. He was right again about it being a fucking monster, because well, yeah. Maybe you’ll pop in and shop for bulk lube instead of rejecting his up-sale this time.
・・・・・・・・・・・・・・
Unfortunately for you upon the reunion coming to an end, you get into your car and of course it doesn’t start. You drop your head to the steering wheel in a sigh and annoyed grunt.
The last thing you need is your father driving you home because he will lecture you about your car and how it’s got to be some fault of your own for it to not start. And you know, yeah maybe it was your fault. Why were your lights turned on during a sunny Sunday afternoon? Fuck if you know. Why were they left on for the entire nine hours you’ve been here at your parent’s house? You refuse to answer your own question.
And just as you go to accept your defeat, preparing to head back inside and take the walk of shame ten minutes after saying your goodbyes, a savior appears.
That savior is none other than Jay, walking up with his stiff button down shirt partially unbuttoned, hair now disheveled as he must have ruffled it up after the day of work. He watched you from his catering van for just a few minutes before finally getting out to offer his expertise.
“The battery is dead.” He smiles, slapping both palms on your hood and leaning to look at you through the windshield.
“Smart man, can you un-dead my battery before my dad comes out?”
Jay shakes his head apologetically.
“I already checked the van for the cables, could be a write up on my part for not checking before leaving. We are supposed to have all sorts of shit to prevent breakdowns on a job. Not today though, apparently.” He scratches the back of his neck as he walks to your opened car door.
“If you can hang tight for like ten minutes I can swing by after dropping the van off.”
Your eyes plead with him. You’d prefer this, yes. If he’s willing to help, you’re willing to accept.
“You sure I’m not too out of the way for you to do that?”
He shakes his head nonchalantly, waving you off as he leans into your car to pull your keys out of the ignition. He smells like food, obviously he does, but there’s a scent of something else on him that’s far more attractive. The dull scent of cologne that matches him all too well.
“Don’t try to turn it on anymore if you don’t want your dad coming out.” He laughs. “I’m sure he would help you but if you’d rather I help you, I am more than happy to do it.”
He’s teasing. His little crush pushes him to want to help you, but he’s gonna play it off as casually as possible.
“I’ll hang out here. My dad would lecture the fuck out of me.”
Jay nods, backing away and heading back to his van to fulfill his offer.
On another note, you’re shocked that your father didn’t hear the commotion, and even more shocked that he didn’t step outside once since the reunion ended. He must have been tired, and you know him, he sleeps like a rock and probably already hit the sack without even cleaning up the yard.
・・・・・・・・・・・・・・
“Oh, it’s dead dead.” Jay looks at you apologetically, peeking his head out from the side of your hood and through your window.
“Define dead dead.” You comment, taking your keys out of the ignition with a huff.
“Like, you need a new battery. This one is done for.”
You sigh loudly, knowing that now you’ll have to go ask your parents for a ride home. Knowing that your dad is going to add more to his lectures with each day your car is sitting in this driveway. This is so fucking annoying. At least you work from home though, so it’s not like you’re gonna lose your job over this or anything.
Jay unhooks the cables and turns off his car, then stands there and watches you for a moment. You look frustrated and annoyed, and it’s very much like him to offer more help.
Of course it is.
“Would it be too forward to ask if you need a ride home?”
You look at him confused, tilting your head and studying his body language much like before. You’re not one to decline someone making your life a little bit easier, and he is interesting to talk to. You nod slowly, then pause.
“You’ve worked all day, don’t waste your off-time helping me out.”
“I’m already wasting my off time on you though, might as well let me drive you home too?”
You stare at him.
“Okay.”
The awkward silence sets in shortly after you seat yourself in his car. You fill that silence with small sarcastic comments about said car though, and soon it becomes easy to be in the space with him.
“Where did this sticker come from?” You ask, poking your finger into a sticker with its edges rolled from the summer heat, probably.
“Ex girlfriend, I couldn’t get it off without it leaving a residue so I’m just letting the sun do its job and melt it off.”
“Oh, harsh.” You laugh, wanting to prod further. “Why’d you break up?”
Jay pauses, you can tell by the way his foot lets up from the gas momentarily that he wasn’t expecting you to ask that. Then again, he’s said some weird shit to you too, so you figure it’s not an end-all question.
“Was that too forward to ask?”
“Not at all, just wasn’t expecting it,” He shakes his head with a small smile, nearly reaching his hand from the wheel to pat your leg in reassurance. He holds back, wondering why the fuck that urge felt so normal for him to do. “It’s been like a year, so I’m over it and stuff. She just thought I worked too much and didn’t spend enough time with her.”
“Ouch, even harsher.” You smile in reassurance to him, also feeling it normal to want to do that for some reason. “Her loss, I mean, discounted dildos and food? Huge loss.”
He laughs at your comments, briefly looking over at you once he stops at a red light. Your eyes are shining with life, with interest even. At that moment, he feels something between the two of you. Which is quite strange considering this is your first time officially meeting him outside of his working hours. He can’t help the way his face softens though, it happens against his will, honestly, it does.
“You’re kind of cute,” You blurt, breaking eye contact with him and shifting in your seat. “and fun to hang out with.”
“Hang out?” He laughs at you, eyes now adjusting back to the road and lowering his speed just to have a bit more time with you. “This is hardly a hang-out, but if you’re interested, I’m more than willing to check my schedule to see when I’m free next.”
You feel confidence raise up in your chest, bubbling to be free in the form of a question likely too bold to actually consider.
“You’re free right now…right?” You comment quietly, glancing at him.
“Hm?” He asks, tightening his grip on the steering wheel and feeling your eyes on him. He heard you, but he wouldn’t mind hearing you repeat it.
“I said, you’re free right now.” You repeat, this time with more confidence. “Would it be too forward to ask if –”
“Nothing is too forward to ask, I literally sold you a dildo.”
You pause in shock, all thoughts leaving your head.
“Damn, alright,” You laugh, feeling kind of warm inside at how his forwardness matches your own. “If you’re free right now, we could hang out right now.”
How lucky for both of you. He’s actually not catering tomorrow and only has to be at work at the good ol’ sex shop in the evening.
“Alright,” He nods, glancing over to you. “Kind of fucked up we are hanging out after I met your entire family and still haven’t gotten a name from you yet though, wouldn’t you think?”
Oh fuck, he’s right.
“I’m sure you heard the kids yelling it all day. Don’t be dramatic.”
He laughs, already in love with the idea of spending more time with you.
And you hear him echo your name, asking where it is that you’d like to go.
・・・・・・・・・・・・・・
If your parents were to ask why you’re walking through your apartment building with the caterer following behind you, you’d have no excuse. Then again, as an adult, you don’t think you need one. It’s strange despite how open and casual you are with making friends though, because you never just invite strangers to your place for friendship. At least, not without hanging out a few times first.
You guess it’s not super awkward because it’s true that he already knows things about you that your family doesn’t. Such as, the things you penetrate yourself with when you’re alone. It’s a major ice breaker, and something that makes the friendship with him come easy even after barely talking to the guy.
The few words you have shared have been easy and fun, so it’s only natural that if your instinct is to want to be around him a little longer, you’d invite him in right? You weren’t really expecting him to accept your answer to his question.
“Where to then?”
You thought for a moment when he asked that. You don’t go to clubs or bars anymore, most places would have been closing within the hour, and it’s not like you didn’t eat to peak fullness during the family reunion so having a late dinner with him was out of the question too. You answered him so easily, and he accepted in a way that seemed just as natural to him.
“We could just hang out at my place, I’ve got plenty of streaming services, a gaming system, and wine.”
“Sounds good.”
It was so easy to become friends with him, and now with him following you up to your apartment, the typical awkwardness that should come with this type of thing isn’t swarming your mind at all. He’s even making small talk about the building itself after parking in your parking spot.
“This building is way nicer than mine, you got a door code and everything just to get in.”
“Wasn’t always like this. Being a single woman in a city like this calls for safety measures though.”
A little box in his head checks out. He didn’t even have to ask if you’re single, because he already assumed you were with the way you so easily invited him over. And in all fairness, you’ve been trying to find a reason to slip in your relationship status to him.
By the time you get to your door with him, he’s polite when he walks in and takes off his shoes. Polite in the way he looks around and studies your space, even polite in the way he walks into the living room and invites himself onto your couch and grabs your remote.
“I was going to say make yourself comfortable but–”
“Well, would you prefer I sit on your floor?” He shoots back with a sarcastic tone in his voice. “Would you prefer I start digging through your cabinets for snacks? Would you prefer–”
“You’re so much more talkative when I’m not trying to buy something from you.” You comment with a laugh, dipping into the kitchen for two glasses and that cheap bottle of wine.
“Speaking of, do you actually use that thing and like it? I mean, I see some weird purchases but that specific one is super popular with the fetish groups.”
For the first time, you feel heat rise to your cheeks. You should have known that the sex toy would be a point of conversation, considering the first time you ever met was buying it.
“Yes, I use it. I’m surprised you find it shocking considering it’s literally your job to know what people like in terms of getting off.”
He smiles at that, because you’re damn right he knows. Most of the time he would prefer not to know, but he always did wonder if, on the off chance, he ended up hooking up with a customer he’d have some prior knowledge of how they like it based on toys alone.
“You know, normally people don’t buy toys on a Monday at nine in the morning.”
“I buy toys at nine in the morning on a Monday,” You chuckle, carrying the two glasses and wine into the living room and plopping down next to him. “Why does that matter? I’m sure you make your quotas even on the slow days considering how hard you were trying to up-sell me.”
He shrugs as he watches you pour him a glass.
“It’s easy to up-sell when you know people’s kinks after a few purchases. I do that to everyone just to gauge what they need so if they come back I can make more offers.”
“A true salesman.” You laugh with a pitied voice. “What would you say my kink is?”
He studies you, looking you up and down without shame and thinking hard about your single purchase.
“Well, considering that specific item is, again, usually looked at by a specific type of person or couple, I’d say–”
“Wrong.” You interrupt before he even tries to make a guess. “I don’t have a kink, I just have a really high sex drive.”
You take a sip at his silence of being beaten to the punch, and then he takes his own thoughtful sip.
“Okay then, What do you think my kink is?” He asks slyly, cup still against his lips as he sips again.
“Wha–” You narrow your eyes at him, trying not to stare at him for too long because goddamn is he handsome. “Hell if I know, you probably don’t even have sex after being in a hyper-sexualized space like that for hours on end.”
“Wrong.” He pokes his tongue into his cheek and looks away from you with another casual chuckle.
“Are you telling me you have a pocket pussy or like, a buttplug or something?”
“Three pocket pussies, actually.”
You don’t know why you’re shocked. For some reason his sex toys becoming the focus makes you feel more shy than your own being the focus.
“I bet you named them.”
“Pocket 1, Pocket 2, and Jessica.”
“Jessica?” You raise a brow despite the sarcastic banter, wondering if maybe that’s based on his ex girlfriend or something.
He nods in a matter-of-fact tone with a proud smile.
You feel comfortable around him, never having a friend who openly talks to you about these things without any type of awkwardness. It’s the fact that he’s a man too. Usually they think with their dicks and he seems to have no qualms in admitting that it’s something he may do from time to time too.
You imagine he needs this type of personality to work such a job though, being casual about sex can be so difficult for your average joe because for some reason, it is embarrassing. It’s hard to talk about even to sex-shop employees. You like to think he���s probably someone who makes others feel comfortable about their sexual habits though, because you feel comfortable.
“I’m lying by the way.” He cuts through your thoughts, “I only have two.”
You nod energetically with a laugh.
“Variety is good.” You continue, not mentioning the array of toys you have stashed away.
“Yeah, I think experimenting with different things is good. I only really liked the two I kept though, I guess.”
“And yet, you’re shocked about my single dildo purchase without knowing of my other items of interest? I could have just been trying something new too, y’know.”
Another sip of wine, and another glance away from him because you were looking a little too fondly at that little scar on his nose, the birth mark on his neck, the way his lips crease when he swallows his drink and– yeah, you definitely glance away.
“No one buys that as a first time experience.” He comments, tapping the cup against his lips and looking at you.
You’re a little stunned by him, never having met a man so open to speaking like this, with a woman he barely knows no less.
“Okay, enough about my dildo. I actually have a question about something you might have in stock but I’ve kind of been too embarrassed to ask until now.”
He nods, his personality shifting only slightly into that as the manager of the sex-shop.
“Oh? Embarrassed? Since when?” He jokes at first. “What is it then?”
“Do you guys have like,” you pause, unsure of why you’re even trying to ask. Again, it’s not like masturbation is embarrassing, nor is the purchasing of toys. Asking for a specific item is a bit too intimate to you though, seeing as how you usually just buy those things online. “Okay hear me out.”
“Tentacles? Furry buttplugs with tails attached? Bondage rope? Paddles?”
“No…” You pause at his spewing of different types of toys. “I know you have all of that.”
He pauses, studying the way you make yourself a bit smaller compared to just minutes before.
“Do you guys have sex dolls for women? You know, like, just a doll with a very normal dick?”
Jay fucking snorts. How mundane.
Unfortunately for you though, Nope.
“Nah, the owner tries to cater more towards men and fetish stuff. We’ve got fem tantaly dolls and all sorts of blow up dolls but he’s never brought in just like, a torso with a cock, if that’s what you’re asking.”
You shrug.
“Guess sticking it to the wall is all I can do for now then. But like,” You pause, realizing that you’re actually going into detail at this point, which might be a little uncomfortable for him? Maybe? “It’s really annoying to have it sticking to the floor, and you’re like, riding it and it just pops off and stabs your thigh slipping out mid-orgasm.”
He snorts again, that pretty smile you’ve seen time and time again echoing the most attractive laugh you think you’ve heard in a long time. This time, his smile doesn’t fade as the seconds pass, no. He’s unable to stop laughing at the image of whatever orgasm instilled the frustration in you to even mention that happening. He tries to stifle his laughter with the last sip of his wine before choking it down and pushing his glass at you for more.
“Noted,” He snorts, nodding his head and almost hiding his face from you. “I’ll tell the boss we need male sex dolls so the women don’t get dick-stabbed where they don’t need it mid orgasm.”
You glare.
“Wait, no, because it actually hurts.” You frown at him. “I just wish your shop catered a little more to women who just wanna ride a dick without the dangers of riding said dick.”
“Maybe you should slow down next time so the full force of your–” He pauses, realizing how sexual the image in his head is of you right now. “Um…” He trails off uncomfortably, unintentionally adjusting himself in his jeans by spreading his legs slightly against your couch.
“Okay, wait. I’m sorry, is this conversation too much right now?” You ask, looking him up and down and giving him a new glass of wine. “You’re blushing.”
He tries to play it off.
“As if you could make me blush.” He laughs at you, downing half of his glass in one go. “To make up for our lack of product though, and if you don’t tell anyone, I’ll give you a discount on your next purchase just for embarrassing yourself telling me that.”
“Oh, I was supposed to be embarrassed?” You counter, knowing that all you need to do is point out that he got flustered to shut him up. You opt not to because still, the two of you barely know each other. Instead, you opt to laugh along with him, letting your gaze fall back to studying all of those features he has that you didn’t quite notice before.
While you did notice he was handsome before, it’s not like you paid that thought any mind. There are a lot of handsome men out and about after all. It only starts to matter when they allow you to get close enough to appreciate it more. Not to mention, in your experience at various sex shops, most employees of them are mundane and nonchalant. Some are strange old men, or cool old women. Jay though? Jay.
Hmm…how to explain him?
With his messy hair that covers his eyes every time he whips his head toward you in a laugh, with his sharp jawed smile and pretty eyes. The little marks and celestial kisses against his skin that shows you of a life he’s been living. He feels…warm. Like everything about him looks comforting, smells comforting, sounds comforting. And now, even compared to when you met him at the shop, even at the reunion just this afternoon…he’s so much more handsome in this moment.
Learning his personality, hearing his voice say your name, having him take the time to not only help you but befriend you?
His shoulders are broad, and he’s just… you don’t even know how to explain to yourself the attraction you have toward him at this moment. Handsome is one thing, and you would have continued calling him that if it weren’t for the fact that he’s laughing with you on your couch about a ruined orgasm.
“You know, Jay,” You start, looking into your glass and swirling the liquid inside, then you look up again and make eye contact. “I’m really not usually this forward but like,”
His brain stops for a moment at the serious tone in your voice, his expression softens and you can tell he’s listening.
“I know masturbation and stuff is normal, and like, you see and talk about these things all the time but I never really talk about it to other people, they always get weird about it.”
“Yeah, I guess that’s true. I can’t say this is the most normal hang out I've ever had. Usually we talk about our favorite movies or books or something.”
You wave him off.
“Yeah, that’s a good point. We could talk about our favorite movies but I find myself, um–” You stop for a second.
“Is talking about it making you realize that it’s uncomfortable?”
“No, the opposite actually.” You laugh, now actually feeling embarrassed. “I keep thinking about you mentioning the other things you’ve bought and experimented with.”
“Oh? You’re curious?” He laughs, now feeling a bit shy himself because he’s pretty sure that’s you asking him to put images in your head. “I mean I could go into detail but it actually might be too-telling right now.”
You nod, unsure of why you even suggested.
“Maybe next time?” You change the subject with a smile, one that does seem slightly disappointed.
“There’s a next time?” He smiles, setting his glass down on your table and shifting toward you.
“I don’t see why not? I’m having fun, plus you offered me a discount.”
He nods, looking around the room and checking the time.
“I should probably head out then? We’ve both had a long day.”
You nod back to him, feeling a bit sad.
“When are you free next?” You ask, grabbing your phone in a way that seems a bit too excited. “Can you give me your number?”
He obliges, exchanging phone numbers and promising to contact you with his next free day or night to hang out. Just as he goes to leave though, for some reason both of you feel as though the satisfaction of this hang out wasn’t reaching full potential.
“Hey, um,” He stops before he puts his shoes back on. “Would it be too forward to say I’m not tired and wouldn’t mind–”
“Staying for a bit longer?” You finish his sentence for him, patting the couch as if that was also on your mind.
He doesn’t even respond, and instead makes his way back onto the couch where the cushion is still warm, unable to help the fluttering feeling in his chest.
・・・・・・・・・・・・・・
It's almost two in the morning by the time he offers to leave again, and yet, he stays at your clear disappointment of the offer. Another hour later, the two of you are sitting contently and pretending to watch some shitty tv show in comfortable silence.
“We should say something.” He blurts, mid episode.
“What do you mean?”
He turns toward you.
“We should talk about this.” He motions at the space between the two of you.
You’re silent while you try to build up the confidence to meet him half-way again.
“You can correct me if you’re not interested but I actually really would like it if you kissed me or something.” He adds as you continue to process what he seems to be getting at.
You’re taken aback by his forwardness for some reason, and instantly you knew he didn’t communicate this earlier for your own sake. Thankfully, you’ve tried to make it easy for him to read you and he ate it up like his favorite meal. The content feeling between the two of you was buzzing up to this point. Very loudly in your brain where you were thinking of how to kiss him before the night is up. Even as just a “thank you” if he were to turn away from it.
“Oh yeah?” You ask, tilting your head and seeing him scoot closer. “Kiss you, or something?”
He nods his head, looking at you without much issue and searching for a reaction.
“Are you interested in me like that, in any way?” He asks, looking for confirmation.
“Oh, most definitely.”
The smile that spreads across his face is one that you can argue will be unforgettable. It’s an expression you hope to bring to every person in your life, one that seems to express nothing but relief, excitement, and maybe even a hint of bashfulness.
“You thought I'd invite you inside without being interested?” You smile at him, feeling a little bit fuzzy in the head at the admittance.
“I thought you were just being nice, or like, just interested in friendship,” He rambles on, stopping himself short to give more context to that statement. “I mean, it would be fine if this was all for friendship and I'm happy with that too but I can admit to coming into your apartment with maybe, uh, a small crush.”
“I can admit to inviting you in with a small crush, maybe.”
“Maybe.”
“Are we being too forward?” You ask, emphasizing the repetitive way that word seems to appear. “Even though you’re in my apartment at an ungodly hour and both of us are giving any and every excuse to keep you here?”
He smiles this time in a way that appears to be self-soothing, and you can imagine you are too. It’s always nerve-wracking to walk on eggshells with another person, the threat of wondering if you'll fall alone or fall with them into a new version of partnership.
You don’t think about the lack of knowing him past a purchase, a quick conversation at a family reunion, or the past several hours he’s huddled up with you on this couch. You simply don’t think it’s strange at this point. After all, you’ve met people online and invited them over without much more than a name, age, and quick conversation about what they want sexually. How is this worse? How is this strange?
“You’re right. Maybe we should stop being so polite when the reality of it is that I’ve been imagining what you’ve done with that toy since the day you bought it.”
Okay, maybe that was too forward but all is lost now as your image of him changes drastically within the mere seconds it took him to say that, not in a bad way either. Again, of course he’s comfortable admitting it, the dude stares at dicks and holes all day. But now he’s staring at you, and talking directly to you.
Your silence makes him shift a bit, shaking his head apologetically.
“Found the boundary, got it.” He shames himself with a timid voice, looking away from you and back to the tv with a hint of embarrassment. “I’m not lying though.” He adds after a few more minutes of your silence.
“Not much of a boundary if I admit that I was blatantly asking you earlier what you’ve done to experiment with your toys.”
“Aha! So I was right in thinking you were straight up asking for mind-porn of me?!” He feels instantly comfortable again, turning his entire body toward you as he folds up one of his legs to sit on with a little bounce.
“Maybe, but what do you mean you’ve been imagining since I bought it? You barely made eye contact with me that day.”
“Oh, I was checking you out the whole time you shopped. Imagine my face when I knew exactly what toy you were reaching for.”
You shove him by the shoulder with a laugh, realizing that this is the first bodily contact you’ve ever had with him, but he actually leans into your shove rather than out of it. Meaning, he barely budges.
“If I looked you in the eye at the register, you would have thought I was some pervert.”
“You are a pervert. You said it had, what? Twelve other colors?”
He shrugs with a pained smile at how cringe he must have sounded to you.
“You seemed more like a sparkly pink girl rather than a normal flesh tone girl. Then again, this was before I knew you were looking for a literal male sex doll for super normal pretend-sex.”
You shove him again, your laugh coming out more forced now at the way he jokes with you. Once again, he doesn’t budge. In fact, he’s leaning in closer.
“Now hold on, you didn’t mention anything about one having glitter in it.” You joke, wiggling your brows.
“You trying to fuck a man or a magic unicorn?” He laughs yet again, all of it coming out more forced as the two of you drag out information just to hear the dirty words in a voice you’re only just realizing you like far too much.
“A man.” You dead-pan, this time not laughing, looking him dead in the eye and trying to pretend you don’t notice how close the two of you have gotten. “Why else would I go for more human skin tones?”
“Fuck if I know, I haven’t met a single man who has vibration settings or rolling beads though.”
You snort.
“Shame…but also, why do you think I’m on the hunt for the most mundane sex toy a woman can buy now? The rolling beads almost had me passing out.”
“Was it too much?” He asks seriously, hoping to god it was.
“A little bit, yeah.”
“I can imagine you want something to feel real after that.”
For some reason, his words hit you straight in the gut. Your stomach drops as your attraction heightens, and suddenly you’re just staring at him as you respond.
“I can imagine so, yeah.”
He stares back, almost no space between the two of you as the banter only brought you both mentally and physically as close as possible without becoming twisted together.
“When was the last time you felt something real?” He asks against his better judgment, wondering if you’re on the same page with him. Wondering if all this banter was leading to somewhere or nowhere. Because he could have sworn admitting to wanting you to kiss him, and you’ve yet to do so.
“A month and a half.” You respond dryly, suddenly needing something to drink.
He glances down at your neck when you swallow around your words, then stares at your lips before breathing in a sigh. One that was supposed to relieve the tension in this moment, but only building it more because he knows you see him do it. He knows you see him wet his bottom lip too.
“Are you going to kiss me, or are you planning to wait another month and a half to get what you want?” He continues on his streak of boldness as if to distract you from noticing the sexual tension, feeling his heart skip beats at the intensity of the moment.
“It’s not like we have anything better to do.” You start, leaning in and still looking straight into his eyes.
“Are you suggesting that I’m boring?” He narrows his eyes as he feels your breath against his lips, still sweet from the wine that did close to nothing in terms of altering the brain. The two of you are totally planted into reality, if anything, a little drunk on the other.
“Not at all.” You adjust your words from earlier, there, hovering just over his lips. “I’m just saying that nothing is more interesting than kissing you right now.”
Oh, the fluttering in his belly is so fucking intense right now. No eighteen inch alien tentacle dildo on a shelf could scare him as much as you do at this moment. Intimidatingly outspoken and aware of your wants and needs. His eyelashes flutter just like his stomach does, closing them slowly until he can feel your lips on his.
Your stomach, on the other hand, has been doing flips since the first instance he admitted to wanting to stay. All of the tension, all of the comfortable silence, all of the glances, the smiles, the laughing, all of it was leading up to this. The moment your lips hit his, they feel much like you imagined they would.
Soft, plush, warm. The thin lipped grins he’s given you all day now laying flat against your own lips, no longer grinning, now just wanting. And he’s gentle, so fucking gentle with it. Never has a man asked you to kiss him. Usually they close the gap to try and swoon you. It appears you’re both being swooned by each other at the moment though, and his soft kiss only pulls back momentarily before he leans forward, closer.
The third touch, save for you shoving him, his lips on yours, and now…his hand on your cheek. Caressing so gently as he deepens the kiss with ease. The heat rises up and through your skin at the simple touch. You think he must feel it with the way he chuckles into the kiss and starts peppering them against your lips over and over again. A split second between each lay of his lips, and then another solid kiss. One where you finally start moving yours too.
It’s slow and languid in the way he kisses you like this, barely even darting his tongue out but focusing more on your cheek against his palm. He can feel your jaw move as you kiss and can’t help but love what’s happening, and when you’re the one to lick against his lower lip, he falls in so easily.
That little movement from you, that little feeling of your tongue experimentally prodding his lips open releases the last bit of tension holding him back. He pulls back to look at you and you’re not backing down even slightly.
“Does this feel more real for you?” He asks in a snide way, swiping your bottom lip with his thumb of the glistening saliva before tilting his head with a smile.
You very nearly roll your eyes at him for that. And by very nearly, you do roll your eyes at him and can’t help but smile yet again.
“I’ll take that as a yes,” He says, palm still against your cheek, tips of his fingers toying with the baby hairs on your hair-line. “because I can imagine that the toy couldn’t ki-”
You shoot forward to kiss him again, only just realizing how awkward the positioning is considering neither of you were probably expecting more than a first kiss.
He laughs into it, knowing you were silencing him of something that could arguably be the most cringe-worthy thing he can say after kissing you. His laughs start to stifle though, as you press forward and somehow manage to have his back against the seat of the couch and you planting yourself on top of him.
“Can you shut up about the toy now? I thought we got past that,” You argue as you pull back, your cheek already missing the feeling of his palm against it. “You can’t just act like this and then say some dumb shit like that.”
You’re joking, he knows it. If anything, you’re complimenting him right now and he eats it the fuck up as he stares up at you.
“Was I wrong though?”
You take a moment to look at him, realizing that this is the man who you just kissed. With his hair a mess and fanned out on the cushions, strands falling in front of his eyes, but mostly swept back and exposing the entirety of his forehead to you.
You reach forward and brush a strand from his eyes.
“Actually, say whatever you want.” You correct yourself and manage to ignore his question.
“Why the sudden change of heart?” He half-chuckles as he brings his hands up to sit against your waist, hoping you don’t pull out of the intimate position the two of you are in.
“I don’t know, I was just looking at you and thought it would be stupid for me to try to argue with you right now.”
“Why’s that?” He prods for more compliments, feeling himself twitch at the way you look hovering over him.
“Are you trying to argue right now?” You tilt your head, adjusting yourself now to sit directly on his thighs and lay forward, both hands cushioning your chin on his chest as you straddle him.
“Would it be so wrong to admit that you’re fun when you argue with me?”
You can feel him breathe under you, nearly rocking you further and further into whatever headspace Jay seems to put you in. It’s too comfortable, and it almost feels as though you’ve been with him for years now. You barely know him, yet you’re lying on him as if you got married two years ago. Insane how this works. How the heart works, or the brain, or whatever drives the arousal you’re feeling right now.
“Will you argue if I ask to show you my room?” You start, lifting back up and away from his chest, now scooting forward a bit. You don’t dare sit on it yet, but you very much would like to if he were to suggest not moving at all from this couch. “My bed.”
He stutters and quickly quiets his excited words, replacing his voice with a nod and a sharp inhale.
“Hah! Telling me to argue and instantly buckling the second I mention my bed.” You laugh, pulling yourself up and sauntering out of his view.
He stares at the ceiling for a moment, in a daze over just how much he likes you. He wonders, would you be shocked to know he hasn’t had sex in much longer compared to you? One and a half months for you? That’s nothing to him. He’s been besties with his right hand for at least six months by now. Trust him when he says that it truly was difficult to not turn into a hormonal idiot when he saw you in the shop that day.
Finally, he shakes himself out of the spaced out horny brain staring at your ceiling and stands to his feet. He’s quick to adjust the bulge in his jeans, uncomfortably shaking his leg before looking toward where you walked off to.
“Um.” He stops, realizing you were watching him, looking directly at the spot he just adjusted. “I mean,” He tries to start again, adjusting again as he feels it slowly move out from its tucked place. “Listen,”
“No, I get it.” You say, snickering at his embarrassment as if he somehow doesn’t know you were suggesting at least some foreplay by moving to your room.
“Of course you do,” He drops his head, now blatantly shoving his hands down his pants to adjust before looking back up and taking a step forward. “You’re the one who sat on me like that.”
“Please, I didn’t even sit on it.”
“Didn’t need to.” He shrugs, now coming up to you and waiting for you to guide him through your space and into your room.
Once the two of you get there, him not even attempting to hide that he is very aroused at this moment, you’re very quick to turn and face him once he comes inside.
“We are on the same page, right?” You ask, looking at his lips and the way they still look so kissable.
“As far as I know, with all things considered.” He responds, looking down at himself and how pathetic he must seem in getting so aroused by nothing more than a kiss and a position change.
You smile, reaching for his hand and watching him tumble forward to you. Now standing mere inches in front of you.
“Do you want to see it?” You ask, a cheeky smirk on your face as you turn away from him and run to your bedside table.
He has no idea what the fuck you’re referring to until he sees it. There, in all of its non-human glory. Jay ticks his tongue, curiously straining his neck out to peek at what else is in your drawer as he walks closer.
You make no attempt to close the drawer and instead pull out another one, and another one, another one.
“If you keep pulling out toys I’ll start to think you were lying in saying you wanted to feel something more, um–”
“Real?” You say, turning from your presented line-up of toys to look at him.
He nods, gazing over the toys, four dildos all far bigger than he is.
“I can admit that men can’t vibrate, nor do they have those little rotating beats but,” You chuckle at the conversation, scooping the toys up quicker than you laid them out and tossing them back into the drawer. “They’re not warm, or attached to someone that can kiss me. They’re also not witty.”
You study his expression.
“They don’t make me laugh before getting me off.” You continue, wondering if you may actually be too forward about this now.
He’s rendered a bit speechless, which is rare for him in any given situation. He always has a quick response, not at this moment though as he looks at you. He wonders if you pity that obvious act of self-doubt upon seeing your toys.
“They’re not attached to you.” You add, this time stifling your chuckle, because it’s a pretty funny conversation if you look at it from the outside but you can imagine he must be feeling some type of way to be so quiet.
He thinks hard about it, knowing damn well where this was leading and pushing for it himself. Hearing you now though, so confidently say these things, all doubt erases from his mind.
“Before we do anything,” he starts, his shaky voice coming out more confident as he continues. “Is this just a hook-up to you or are you feeling the way I’m feeling right now?”
You look at him with a question in your eyes. He was kind of shocked that you didn’t finish for him this time, actually.
“Like, you know if we do this, I’m going to be calling to take you out to dinner at some point unless you say you don’t want me to, right?”
You hadn’t thought of anything past him since you’ve gotten here. You didn’t think about anything more than hanging out with him, and now, kissing him, and maybe you know, feeling him. For some reason though, despite the lack of sex you’ve had lately, him saying that only arouses you more. It’s been so long since you’ve intended to sleep with someone and have them want to stick around after. Some of the people you’ve been with didn’t even ask for your number. Is this what adult relationships are actually like?
“As in, you’d want to see where this goes in the–”
“Future, yes. I’m not just going to fuck you and pretend I didn’t when I see you again.”
Shockingly, that’s a first for you and you like the feeling it gives you. Plus, him implying that he’s about to, or very willing to, fuck you sends a wave of fondness through you.
“Alright. Let’s not call it a hook up then.” You say, the playful arousal from before stifling out at the idea of being intimate with someone who is making you aware that you’ll see him again, now being replaced with…feelings? Arousal with feelings?
“What should we call it?”
“A date?” You say back immediately, sitting on your bed and finally closing your bedside drawer.
“Oh, you fuck on the first date?”
You laugh at how quickly his wit comes back, especially with the way he crowds up and stands in front of you.
“With you? Looks like it.” You smile wide for him, feeling the tension bleed away and replace itself again with the arousal of him standing and looking down at you.
“How did we not meet earlier?” He asks, leaning down a bit as if to kiss you.
“Fuck if I know, I bought all of those toys at your shop.”
“Ah, right. Nine in the morning on a Monday. I don’t usually work mornings.”
“Guess I got lucky last time then.”
“I guess you did.” He adds like a period to a sentence, finally kissing you again and making no effort to hide the fact that he’s attempting to lay you down much like you did to him before.
You let him, falling back on your bed and feeling him nudge your legs to spread. Again, you let him, feeling your heart begin to race with excitement in the way he kisses you now versus how he did it earlier.
There is clear intent behind it this time, as he positions himself between your legs. Your heart only races faster when one of his hands slides down your arm and he tangles his fingers with yours. It’s all very intimate to be coming from a man you officially met today, but you really do feel lucky.
Lucky that he works two jobs, lucky that your family throws lame ass reunions every five years, lucky that you left your headlights on during a sunny sunday afternoon, lucky that your battery died.
It’s so normal already to smile into the kiss and feel giddy inside. Never have you smiled into a kiss save for laughing when a leg cramp happens mid-fuck. You can’t believe how much you’ve smiled and laughed today, and you can’t believe he’s making you react this way just by holding your fucking hand and kissing you this way.
He laughs when you react though, probably feeling at ease on your bed with you under him, squeezing your fingers tightly each time he licks against your tongue. And when he pulls back to breathe, you just look at him and the way his hair hangs in front of his eyes. He looks so pretty at this angle, even when he’s moving slowly, even when his other hand remains planted beside your head to hold his weight from falling onto you.
It’s not been since highschool that you’ve laid with someone simply making out, fully clothed, giggling. You’re unsure of how he’s pulled this out of you, because usually when a man is on top of you, you’re already trying to get his clothes off. But this? This is something that you want to last. You want it to be slower than a usual fuck, because you like when he’s here with you. Whether on top of you or not, there was a reason he’s stayed this late already and you already know it wasn’t solely to fuck you.
“Did you expect to be on top of me someday?” You ask between kisses, and he takes that as an invitation to laugh against your neck and tickle your cheek with his messy hair.
“Expect it? No,” He starts, leaving a kiss just under your ear before lowering his lips to the collar of your shirt and kissing there too. “Hoped I could, though.”
Your heart swells up at that. You realized he must have meant it when he admitted to having a small crush on you. Only now do you realize that the curiosity that brought you back up to the food-table during the reunion may have been the start of a crush on your end too.
You don’t say anything more after that and instead fall into the feeling of his lips kissing along your collar. For some reason the sensation of his lips pushing the fabric out of the way so he can kiss new exposed skin makes you feel incredibly wanted. Maybe it’s the pace, or maybe it’s just because you really really like him, and want him to want you.
“Do you want to take it off?” You ask after a few more of his kisses, wanting to control yourself but also very much wanting to feel his lips everywhere else too.
You can feel him nod in the form of his hair tickling your cheek more. But he doesn’t move from that spot at first, continuing to kiss you the same way and in the same places. You let him, up until he finally sighs and pulls back.
Looking at him now, even compared to a few moments ago, he looks even more pretty. His eyes are now soft, you can almost see the lines from where he’s smiled for you all day. His lips, looking more kissable than they did the past two times you thought they looked as kissable as they ever could. His eyebrows, showing no signs of tension but permanently arched in a way that makes him appear constantly moody.
You’re staring and you’re not intending to hide it. Even as he lifts your shirt from your waist and starts to pull it up. You barely budge as you stare, and stare, until you can’t because he’s trying to pull your shirt over your head.
“If you’d stop staring for two seconds maybe I could get this off of you–” He smiles knowingly, finally pulling it off when you arch your back and then prop yourself up slightly with your hands. “There.”
He sighs when he says it, going silent and almost frozen at the image of your nearly-naked torso. You watch him stare now, a smirk forming all too quickly.
“Now look who’s staring.” You chuckle, noting that his eyes still don’t leave the newly exposed skin or the fabric of your bra.
“Yeah, I am.” He admits, wetting his lower lip again and then flicking his eyes to you. “Why wouldn’t I?”
Suddenly, that eye contact makes you feel shy. You’re more naked than he is, despite mostly being dressed still.
“You know,” you start, avoiding his intense eye contact just to get the words out. “If we just take all of our clothes off now, it would probably be easier.”
He lets out a breathy chuckle at you but nods, already lifting his shirt off and going for his zipper and button.
“There’s no rush, but if you’d prefer we do,” He scoots back and away from you, standing to his feet to shove his jeans down his legs. “I don’t mind.”
You watch him undress and lose all ability to act on your own for a solid thirty seconds before you finally start panic-shimming the rest of your clothing off. Save for bra and panties, and he, now standing there clad in only a pair of form-fitting briefs.
You’re glad he isn’t as shy as you at this moment though, or rather, he appears to be entirely infatuated with your body and doesn’t look away from it for even a moment to feel embarrassed himself at standing on the side of your bed nearly nude.
“No rush?” You ask, when he finally trails his eyes up to you and takes his position between your legs from earlier. Except now, you can see his biceps and the way they flex, now, you can feel the immense amount of warmth radiating from him. Now, his hair is even more of a mess.
“I can try,” He says quietly, balancing on one hand and lowering his lips to yours once more, trying to ignore how dangerously close his length is to bumping against your core. “No promises now, though.”
You smirk, wondering where he lost his self control within that short span of time where you got undressed. He cuts your chuckle off mid-way though, now kissing you again and moving his hand up and down your waist. It tickles and causes goosebumps to form all over you, to the point that you can’t help but sigh into his kiss.
He continues, still holding his hips back from grinding against you, kissing you as good as he can until trailing back to your neck again.
It’s not until you run your fingers through his hair that he sighs himself. That relief and heavenly feeling of your fingers scraping the back of his neck— such a simple touch can literally send him straight to hell at this point and he wouldn’t care a single bit as long as it’s from you and your hands.
He lowers himself more, just to prevent his hips from intruding into this moment only to lock his lips onto the mound of your breast, other hand lowering so he can lay down and push your bra to the side a bit.
The cold air that hits your nipple is short-lived when you feel him immediately suck it into his mouth with a deep breath. You continue to scratch through his hair, now using your other hand to nearly hug his head in place as you feel the sensations shoot straight between your legs. Each flick of his tongue sends signals to your brain to go! go! go! But much like him, you hold back, even though your legs still manage to squeeze his body between yours in an attempt to find the friction he isn’t yet offering.
He continues this for a few minutes, and then works his fingers under the bra on the other side of your chest before switching his lips to that one. Perking them up so perfectly that he can graze his teeth against either nipple and feel your legs react to it. All of it is turning him on beyond belief, it’s dangerously attractive to him now too, to know that you have several toys that could have already gotten you off by now, but you choose this. You choose his lips playing with your tits, and your legs doing an amazing job of showing him your lack of control. After all, toys can’t give you the foreplay that he can.
His lips continue their work, up until he’s trailing further and further down, making your sighs hitch higher and higher in pitch. He kisses your waist, just above your belly button, then just below your belly button before leaning back.
There, he looks directly at the seat of your panties and smiles at the wet spot there. He plants a kiss right in the center of your mess before climbing back up and caressing your cheek again.
“You’re wet.” He comments in a huskier voice than he normally uses, balancing yet again on his other arm.
Goddamn, if this is how he sounds when he’s with a girl then you feel more lucky than before. You can’t imagine the amount of women who have fallen completely in love with this guy. And, before you can actually respond to him with another cheeky comment, his hand on your cheek disappears and is instantly between your legs, cupping you there and even scooting you up the bed with the force of how he grabs you.
You hitch out a sigh and look at him with a smile.
“Obviously.” You say back, rolling your eyes playfully before unintentionally bucking your hips into the pressure his palm offers against your clit.
“Cute too.” He adds, lifting his palm to run his fingers up the wet spot on your panties before pressing in slightly.
You can feel the fabric stick to you uncomfortably, but it still feels so fucking good. Any amount of touching from him feels good, if you’re being honest.
“And you’re teasing me.” You argue, looking away from his smirk as he plays with the wet fabric against his fingers.
“Just ask. I’m not teasing you if you're not telling me what you want.”
You shoot your eyes back to him, a mixture of curiosity and shock in your eyes. It’s true though, you are a little shocked. Most men really just do what they want, and so do you. Never have you been asked what you want.
Your eyes trail down as far as they can, what his hand is doing is mostly hidden between your legs but you focus entirely on the way his arms flex as his fingers travel up and down your panties.
“You want me to ask?” You question, hips bucking up again unintentionally.
“Not so much ask, but like, tell me what you want.”
He nods to himself as he says it, licking his bottom lip and pressing the fabric of your panties in yet again.
It’s not that he doesn’t want to do what he wants right now though, definitely not. He just figures you know your body far better than he does, and he’d rather not make assumptions and embarrass himself when you could just ask him or better, guide him. Who is he to assume you want his fingers right now anyway?
“I’ve never…” You start, swallowing your words as your brain goes back to focusing on his fingers momentarily. “I haven’t–”
He knows what you’re trying to say, so he attempts to make it a bit easier for you.
“Do you want me to pull your panties to the side?”
You sigh with a nod, looking at him and allowing him to guide you through telling him what you want.
“Do you want me to touch you?”
You nod again, pushing your head back against the mattress out of frustration that you, for some reason, can’t find the words to just tell him yourself.
He listens to your body though, more than your weak nods and frustrated sighs. The way your legs shake when he asks, the way you react to the air hitting your folds when he does push your panties to the side. He can’t bear to look down yet though, because he knows for a fact that if he were to pull back and look at you in full, he’d no longer be asking you what you want. He’d be embarrassing for sure.
You can feel his fingers now sliding through your folds though, bare pussy out and on display but not yet being looked at, only being felt. And arguably, all you can do right now is feel too, as he leans forward to kiss you in this silent moment.
His fingers continue to explore as he kisses you, collecting all of your arousal and swirling it around your clit before sliding back down and prodding at your entrance. You make a sound at that, kissing him a little harder than before when he lets out a hum.
“Hm?” He hums against your lips, and you nod to him.
There, he dips a finger in only slightly. Your arms reach around his neck at the feeling and pull him closer to you. To the point that you can feel him struggle to angle his hands right to slide in deeper, but you pay no mind to it. At least not until you kiss the fucking daylights out of him.
That, you do. Kissing him with full-force and making a show of how turned on you are for him. He feels it, with or without your kiss bruising him. The wetness on the tip of his finger only becomes wetter, and when you release your grip around his neck, he still doesn’t leave the kiss.
He goes back to gently kissing you, focusing more on his fingers than what his tongue is doing. He slides that same finger in all the way now, feeling your walls clench almost instantly and beg for more. Chuckling at the feeling, he fucks his finger into you experimentally before pulling them out and adjusting two fingers at your entrance.
“Hm?” He hums again, and you nod again.
So, two fingers slide in and you’re releasing a soft moan against his lips. Already out of breath from focusing so hard on how he feels when he touches you. Your lips fall slack just to catch that lost breath, and he doesn’t argue, going right back to that spot on your neck to kiss as he picks up rhythm with his fingers. Effectively fucking you open with them as you cling to him.
You hate to say you didn’t pay much attention to his hands until now. Having not noticed how deep just those two digits reach inside of you, and good fucking lord does he know how to use them too. Curling them up at just the right moment to have your legs shaking.
Never have your legs fucking shook for a man. This only happens with the g-spot stimulating toys. God, you open your eyes to look at the ceiling in thought, and it has you wondering if he even knows he’s doing it.
“Keep doing that–” you urge him, and he hums at you finally at least trying to tell him what you want.
He finally lifts from your neck to look at you, now placing his weight back on that one free arm that had been toying with the ends of your hair this entire time, and he’s fucking floored. Even if he pictured you before with those toys, none of those images came close to this. And it’s just his fingers? No where near the size of your toys, no where near as expensive, or warm…or alive.
Oh. You want to feel someone who wants you.
“I’ll do anything you want.” He says, doing exactly as you asked except a little faster, still hitting that spot inside of you so perfectly that you’re moaning out now.
He tunes in entirely to the sounds you’re making, the faces you’re making, and the way your pussy clenches around just those two fingers. He is aching at this point, pulling back from hovering over you to sit now between your legs, fingers still keeping pace, and sliding his other hand down his briefs.
You don’t notice at first, too enthralled by the feeling of his curling fingers inside of you, but when you do–
“God,” You moan, rolling your eyes at the image of him out of breath, both hands working to pleasure both of you. “Come here.”
He listens, already pulling his hand away from himself but keeping his fingers in you, in a daze as he takes his original position of hovering over you.
“No, I mean, come here.” You say, looking at him as you reach between your bodies and pull his fingers out of you, then reach to grab between his legs.
He immediately moans at the feeling, his hips pressing harshly into your grip with a whine as he takes a deep breath and closes his eyes just to feel it.
“Pull it out.” You continue, slowly becoming more and more comfortable telling him what you want.
Just watching him do what you ask is insanely hot. The way he pulls his cock out seems so natural to him, you suddenly imagine what he must look like all alone while getting himself off. Thankfully though, he’s not all alone right now, he’s with you, and you intend to be getting him off.
You look at him, between his legs, and then back at him once more before grabbing it again and practically pulling his hips to you by the cock. He groans all the same at it though, and only holds his breath when he feels your legs spread further and essentially press his cock between your folds and hold it there from the head.
“Grind.” You say, still holding your hand in place to keep the pressure against him, which also puts pressure against your clit when he does grind up.
You both shiver at it, and he still looks down at you, fucking smiling through his sighs of relief regarding the new sensations you’re offering.
“You’re actually fucking perfect.” He compliments, fucking his hips up and coating his cock with the dripping of your needy cunt.
Out of everything he’s ever said to you up to this point, out of everything he’s fucking done to you, that’s the one thing that has you spiralling into a world of fire. It makes you feel so warm, especially with the head of his cock bumping your clit. He has barely gotten any friction and he is still calling you perfect? Sign you the fuck up, forever, actually.
“Don’t be stupid,” You start, waving him off between moans and gripping his shoulders.
He grinds up harder at your words though, now propping himself up on his elbows and grabbing your face on both sides.
“You, don’t be stupid.” He says clearly, pointing his thrusts directly at your clit and moaning only slightly as he looks at you.
You swear, at that moment he could see your entire life. Everything about you. Everything you love and hate. The way he doesn’t look through you but at you?
“You’re actually insane.” You laugh, crumbling to his pointed gaze and thrusts, your legs automatically shooting up to wrap around his waist.
He seems proud of being called insane right now. Mostly because he can come up with at least fifty reasons as to why this is anything but insanity, but he remains quiet at the feeling of your legs squeezing around him.
Such a girl was looking for mundane sex toys to have normal sex with? Lucky you, this is his fucking favorite. Plain ‘ol missionary? Check. Legs squeezing around him, almost pulling him in? Check. Looking directly at the face of the person he wants to make feel good? Check.
You barely notice his lack of control by this point, the closeness alone feels like you’re already having sex but you realize you’re entirely empty still. This is fine though, until it’s not.
When does it not become fine? When his confident moans turn to soft sighs, and you notice his arms shaking a bit to hold his weight above you, and when his eyes go dead staring at you. You can tell he’s focused entirely on the feeling between the two of you, doing nothing more than aggressive yet…weak grinds?
“Jay,” You say, slightly out of breath.
“Hm?” He responds half-heartedly, releasing his weight from one elbow and dropping his head between your neck and shoulder.
“Fuck me.”
It’s like you can feel the switch in his head go from losing sanity to gaining it back in an instant at those words. He felt like he was pleasuring himself against you for so long, with so much friction between your hand and his abdomen constantly pressing into it. He could have gotten off from this, if you wanted him to anyway. It would have been an intense orgasm after working up for so long too, but now?
He doesn’t even say anything, he doesn’t even move his head from between your neck and shoulder. Instead, you feel him expertly adjust his hips and press in without much trouble. He finds exactly where he belongs so fucking fast that is has you spinning and clenching immediately.
“Shit,” He drones out with a long sigh, slowly sinking his cock into you. “You’re throbbing.”
You chuckle, because yeah. You definitely are, but so is he. You can feel his thick length spreading you open inch by inch, until he’s fully planted into you and twitching. Then he doesn’t move again.
“This alone could do me in,” He chuckles against your neck, breathing in a deep sigh and attaching his teeth to your lower ear lobe. “Honestly, I can't believe I didn’t already cum just from having my fingers in you.”
You’re both flattered and shocked by this comment, before you can even think to respond he’s talking again.
“You’re so tight, so wet.” He soothes himself through the feeling of your walls clenching around him by explaining how good your pussy feels, not yet wanting to move and just wanting to feel what your body does to him on its own. “It’s so hard not to move right now.”
“Please,” You manage to get out, struggling to focus on just one thing with the way he’s talking and the way he sits so perfectly inside of you. “Please, move.”
And he does, instantly. Pulling out and sliding back in so easily that the slapping sound is muted entirely by the matching moan you both release. You can feel his voice vibrating against your neck, and you can imagine he might be able to feel yours through your pulsing walls, because it feels like every sound, touch, and sensation is sent straight there for him to enjoy.
It doesn’t stop either. Both of you shamelessly moaning at the feeling of him snapping his hips into you at perfect speed, with a perfect voice, and a perfect hand moving up to grip your chest.
He’s practically blanketing you with his body, your legs holding him in this spot, his hair still finding a way to tickle your cheek with each thrust in. It’s so fucking much. It’s so good, and so…comfortable.
You’re comfortable. So comfortable you don’t even feel the need to rub your clit, you don’t want to chase the orgasm, you just want to feel him. And apparently, he’s still on the same page with you.
When he lifts his head, kissing the bottom of your chin and then your lower lip, still the two of you are groaning at each deep thrust in, but he manages to talk through it, somehow.
“Don’t stop,” he says, despite you barely doing anything. “Keep doing that.” He continues as his thrusts pick up pace.
Only now do you realize that you were doing something. Without noticing, your hands were nearly tearing his back apart. Not literally, but your nails may have dug in a few times. Normally, once you notice doing that, you would stop because normally men don’t want the trace of another woman on him. Jay though, he’s in love with the idea that you’ll leave a mark.
Obsessed with the sting of it, really, loving the idea of going to his night-job tomorrow and staring at all of the toys that don’t offer you a back to hold onto like this.
You do as he asks much like he does for you, gripping him so tightly that your nails have no choice but to leave half-moon shapes on his skin. Each thrust drags your fingers up, down, up down, and with each thrust it somehow feels deeper, harder, hotter.
When he releases your chest from his other hand and puts it back to your cheek, caressing much like he has each time he’s focused on kissing you, you think you’re a fucking goner.
As expected, he kisses you at that moment and thrusts once, hard, before holding himself there.
“I’m really close,” He whispers apologetically between kisses, “tell me how to get you there with me.”
You smile when he kisses you again instead of letting you answer, but you fall into it much like he does and you opt to grab that hand on your cheek and guide it to your clit.
Instantly, he’s rubbing harsh and sloppy circles around it, and you reward him for the perfect work of his fingers yet again with your fingernails digging into his back. He softly moans at that, and you swallow it up all too easily.
Tensing your muscles, his fingers on your clit work you up so quickly that you barely warn him of your oncoming orgasm, even as his cock sits leaking and heavy inside of you. You don’t even know how to tell him, all you can do is frantically moan out shortly.
“I’m–”
Instantly his hips are back at work, barely even thrusting but instead remaining buried into you for the most part. He pulls out an inch and slams back in, wanting your orgasm to get him off more than his own movements. And fuck, it does.
The way you clench when you reach your high, slack lips against his own, he releases at what he could argue is the best possible time. Your tenses muscles work him up perfectly, gently massaging his cock as he releases in full without too much overstimulation.
And you. You have never gotten off with a man staying mostly still inside of you. Actually, you’ve only gotten off that way with toys because nothing beats getting off while completely full. Jay really is something, or, someone.
The two of you release together, and his lips fall slack just like yours do. The kissing turned to that of desperate, orgasm-fogged moans into the other’s mouth. For some reason, it was incredibly hot to you that you both reacted that way. So insanely drunk on the other that nothing felt embarrassing.
Even the way his fingers moved on your clit through your orgasm, he somehow knew when to go and when to stop.
Even now, as your orgasm tapers off, you are so blissfully aware that you want to immediately fall asleep even with him inside of you. Jay is polite though, and gently pulls out with a small apology of the mess.
When he looks at you, looking so sleepy under him, maybe it translates to him too and he instantly yawns but tries to be strong for both of you.
“We should clean up.”
・・・・・・・・・・・・・・
There wasn’t even a question in your head when he slept over that night. He didn’t even hint at leaving. Nor did he hint the morning after as you groggily opened your computer for your daily work.
He did hint that he would miss you when he eventually had to go to his own house and get ready for an evening at the sex-shop. He also hinted a few times at feeling like, when he looked at you, you weren’t a brand new person in his life. Part of you wonders if that’s because maybe you want to be permanent in his life from now on.
Later that night, he came back. Bright eyes and a stinging back.
For some reason, you feel it’s safe to say that neither of you can stand being apart for too long. So yeah, maybe this is what a normal relationship is like. If, you know, you were in a relationship with him.
Ironically enough, only a few days later that relationship is established in the form of a new car battery and a bottle of lube that he bought for you.
Not that you need it. (The lube.)
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König x Housekeeper!Reader? He was expecting some little old lady, not a college student looking for an extra side hustle to pay their tuition. He can already picture them as a housewife as they work around his mess of a place.
You're playing with the poor man's heart! When he was signing up for the weekly maid services, he hoped that it would be different people each time. Calling in for a housekeeper and a cleaner is already embarrassing enough at his grown age - there is a voice inside his head that tells him he should man the fuck up and stop being so damn difficult about watching over his own house, but having a regular maid who would know just how messy his life is...yeah, he was not having it. He needed someone old and boring, someone who, preferably, doesn't even speak German so he won't have to awkwardly master the conversation. He got you instead. You're...you're fucking perfect. In cozy and comfortable clothes, nothing that hugs your body and suggests something innappropriate - and yet every time you bend over, he can't help but imagine the way your ass must look under these baggy pants and has to fight the urge to just grab your waist and slam his erection against the curve of your hip. You're eager to work, you buzz around the messy house like a busy bee you are - there isn't much of his personal items inside, but his clothes and various gear laying around does make it a messy space. You were wondering if he is either a soldier or a serial killer, judging by the amount of weapons you got laying around...but it's better to not ask this question. You just needed some money, and the maid services are paying on the day of work - with repeating clients actually sometimes leaving you a nice tip or something to eat if you were to clean their houses at the dead of the night...it's really nice, somehow. Konig just can't keep his hands to himself sometimes. You look too adorable not to compliment on how you look - although he never dares, usually just staring at you from the corner. You're probably thinking he is afraid of you stealing something, but it's not like you really care about any of this, to be completely honest...you just want to keep your head low and get money. Unfortunately for you, Konig has a thing for housewife and domestic life. One time you were doing the routinely cleaning and it got really late - and with Konig literally having his house as far from civillization as possible, ass the buses were already leaving from the stations, leaving you stranded until the morning...and you'd be fucked or in for a very hefty taxi bill if it weren't for Konig oh so generously allowing you to spend the night at the guest room. You knew each other for a few months already, and the guy is harmless...naturally, you agree. Naturally, you never left this house without him again.
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i know in the leech family that its a running joke that the mc is their cleaner shrimp and i cant help but think when its finally the leech parents turn!
Imagine mc and the leech family are going out to do some family bonding and the mc causally picks off some lint or hair off papa leech or mama leech and their mood just instantly brightens :D They go like “thank you dear! Is there anything else on me?” And the parents are just spinning around happy because their child-in-law is doing shrimp things with them! (Meanwhile jade and floyd are off to the side being like “what about me D:<”)
also may I be 🪸 anon or 💫 anon?
YEEAAAAH FAMILY SHRIMP!!!
I think it's a very sweet idea! Whether it's just one of the twins or both that you've gotten involved in, they both enjoy your fretting and picking at them. Floyd most often gets your attention, as he's always getting up to stuff and messy. However, he's more prone to scrapes from basketball and burns from cooking at the lounge, so he gets lots of attention from you. Floyd loves it, he loves being taken care of for once, instead of being feared or seen as a big bad eel. He needs loving too! He needs to be treated tenderly and kindly. Floydie just wants to be loved, and who better to do that than you?
Jade on the other hand will just get dirty when hiking and foraging, but rarely get any scrapes or cuts. He might bruise here or there depending on how it went, but over all you're more likely to need to clean stray twigs, leaves, and dirt for him. In fact, you'll find Jade approaching you after his extensions, every single time, asking for your assistance. Maybe join him in the bath and help him clean up? As his cleaner shrimp? Pretty pleeease? After all, the caretaker needs some caring too sometimes.
When you eventually get introduced to the family and properly fit into your place with the Leeches, with an appropriate shrimp merform! Papa and Mama Leech are just happy that their boys have such a sweet partner. You further solidify your spot when they learn about your “shrimp” tendencies. They think it's so cute! So imagine their delight when you start tending to them like you do their sons!
Papa Leech will often find himself get into...”scuffles” after work. Normally, the family doctor would be available to patch him up, but they were already attending to a patient of theirs. Here comes their resident shrimp, offering to patch him up! You babbling about Floyd and how he always got hurt from his activities at school, so it wasn't a problem. At this point, you're practically a pro! Papa Leech has stars in his eyes, though, he has the cutest child-in-law!!! And you've been doing this for his boys, for free??!! Screw Floyd and Jade if they ever break up with you (like they'd ever would) cause Papa is keeping you in the family for the foreseeable future. Not only are you convenient, but you care for him like family, he'd be a barnacle to let you go. If you're not already married to his boys, prepare yourself, cause he's already organizing the engagement and wedding. No, he did not ask his boys beforehand.
As for Mama Leech, she's been repeated described as a worrywart, and overly cautious, especially regarding her family. I think that, since you weren't brought up in the family like her boys, would be prone to keeping you at her side. If Papa and the twins are off for “work” then you can find her snatching you up for some mother-in-law time to keep you nice and safe! This is when she gets her own version of shrimp tending, via you doing her hair and makeup! She does love dressing up and looking pretty, and is delighted when you start brushing through her hair with your fingers, braiding it and softly applying her lipstick. It's been so long since her boys were little and played dress up with her! But here you are, so sweet and soft and gentle with her! She's now become attached, if you so much as try and leave the family, Mama is sobbing and begging you to stay, while also strangling her sons for what ever they did wrong (she knows they did something the little troublemakers).
I'd say that the twins only get mildly jealous, after all, the more time you spend with their parents the less they get with you! And you're their partner!!! They suppose they should be happy that you get along so well with their parents. Except Floyd. Floyd wishes to monopolize your time and will hide you away with Jade in a dark coral nook. He called you Shrimpy first, it's his right!!!
(I will dub thee 🪸 anon!! welcome!)
#mochi asks#twst#twisted wonderland#jade leech#floyd leech#twst x reader#twisted wonderland x reader#jade leech x reader#floyd leech x reader#leech parents#sweeties!!! the best in laws!!#🪸 anon
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Inevitable Social Class Take/Why Ghostfuckers Solidified My Need for Blitz to Be "Just an Imp"
There's been discourse since . . . before I ever watched Helluva Boss, on whether Blitz might be half or one quarter incubus, based on a family portrait where his mother, Tilla, looks unusually tall, and her horns lack the thin white stripes usually seen on female imp horns, making them look more like succubus horns. After Ghostfuckers, where Tilla appeared with the stripes on her horns, people are saying that the theory is unlikely. I say GOOD.
Now, let me solidify before I get into this that it's not that I think hybrid imps in Hell aren't also looked down on or treated like shit (look at Striker and the number Hell's society has done on him). It's that Blitz being an incubus hybrid would suggest that he has magical powers of a sort, and that takes away a bit from what I think is so awesome about him.
He has no powers. Only his skill, creativity, spontaneity, optimism, intelligence, and heart. What he does, and what he is at his core, utterly disproves Hell's prejudices about imps and their "purpose."
In the flashback to the time when Blitz and Millie met, Millie flat-out refuses to believe that Blitz works for himself. Because imps work for demons higher in Hell's hierarchy-- it's how the society works.
Blitz could so easily present himself as an exception here (special parentage or no), but instead he presents his worldview as an alternative to what he and Millie have both been taught. Essentially: I can do it. So WE can do it. SO LET'S CHANGE OUR WORLD.
Later, he gives Millie a pep talk that solidifies this worthiness idea.
The idea is really deeply ingrained . . . yikes. But Blitz will have none of it.
And that's what makes him special. Not that he's better than anyone else. The way that he can see beyond prescribed roles and defy society's expectations. And help others see themselves as worthy of doing this too!
Also. ALSO Blitz says he's as fuckable and business savy as any succubus. Which one COULD argue means he's similar to them or has some of their powers. OR it's essentially "I can do what they do without their powers hahaha FUCK LIMITATIONS." (The second is the more empowering option in my opinion.)
He's breaking down society's prejudices one imp assassin at a time! Would this be possible if Blitz were a hybrid and had special powers? Sure. But I definitely think it's more powerful FOR MILLIE without that. If Blitz can be this capable and confident, so can she.
Okay-- that brings us to the final confrontation with Rolando. This guy seems to really buy into Hell's typical attitude toward imps.
Thematically, he's throwing the typical prejudices at them and using his "higher demon" powers to intimidate and seemingly easily defeat them.x
But what defeats him?
Millie's confidence that Blitz inspired, that she believes at her very core, even if she still carries some insecurities.
And Blitz . . . well . . . thinking outside the box and dropping the vacuum cleaner ghostsucker thing in the pool.
Rolando gives Blitz a look like "nice display of confidence- you've got nothing."
And Blitz notices something he can use . . .
And frankly obliterates the guy.
So what's the antidote to the racism and social class issues in Hell? Well they'll probably be around for some time, just like the ones in our society. But they can be challenged for now by the gang just being their fantastic selves- Millie being strong and self-assured, and Blitz being innovative in the moment. And Loona and Moxxie doing SOMETHING when they come back into action. xD
And all of them believing that they're worthy.
#I.M.P.#My helluva meta#my unpopular opinions?#blitzo buckzo#blitzo#blitz#millie#helluva millie#helluva boss#ghostfuckers#ghostfuckers spoilers
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Unexpected things you did that delight them:
Riddle Rosehearts, Azul Ashengrotto, Trey Clover, Ruggie Bucci, Malleus Draconia
Content: Fluff
You learned proper tea etiquette for Riddle
It starts out with you just listening to him correct others as they go throughout the various teatimes of Heartslabyul. How it leads to you thrifting a tea set from a local shop is hard to say, and it’s chipped a bit on the plates, but it holds, and the lady gave it to you for a far cheaper price than she should have. But it cleaned up beautifully, you filled in the cracks with some leftover clay and didn’t even have to repaint it! It was already in Ramshackle blue and green.
It is embarrassing when he finds you quizzing yourself on the different spoons and plates, but the smile that blooms is worth it.
You have no idea that when you invite him over for a tea party a few weeks after, it’s the first one that he hasn’t hosted himself. He borrows the same book from the library to brush up on his guest etiquette.
“Prefect, what are you-ah! A lovely set. If you were needing to learn I would be happy to assist! What teas do you prefer? I will bring complimenting savories or sweets.”
You carry glasses cleaner for Azul
Assuming you don’t carry it already or if you don’t wear glasses. You and Azul usually spend a lot of time at Octavinelle but occasionally he will come to Ramshackle. He has since seen the work that you put into fixing up the place and the furniture you've built and appreciates it a way that the others can’t. Afterall, many of his own pieces are repaired or thrifted antiques for authenticity.
Lounging on the couch while listening to one of the jazz records he brought, you take the glasses from his hand when he realizes that he forgot his own cleaner.
“Prefect, why would you have glasses wipes, you don’t wear any. Ah, you carry them for me. How thoughtful of you, my friend! I hope I’m not putting you out any.”
You baked him a birthday cake for Trey
Everyone gets nervous when Trey’s birthday comes around. How do you bake for a baker? He got past the disappointed feeling a long time ago though, perfectly prepared to make his own birthday cake.
What isn’t accounted for you is pushing him out of the kitchen, declaring it against the rules for him to bake his own birthday cake. He could fight you on it, but he’s intrigued at this point on what you will make.
What he doesn’t anticipate is a simple vanilla cake with a blueberry filling, a light buttercream frosting and candied violets and almonds scattered on the top. It’s simple but delicious and clearly just for him.
“You’ve got some real potential here. Where did you learn to make candied violets? You foraged and learned how just for me? Ah, that was too much for me. Thank you.”
You clean Ruggie’s ears
Ruggie does a lot of things to ensure everybody else gets taken care of, which means sometimes he neglects himself a bit. The showers got trashed over at Savanaclaw so he asks to use yours after a particularly messy Spelldrive Practice. As long as Grim can play with the disk in the backyard with the ghosts, it’s a deal for you.
He comes out fluffy, hair sticking out in all sorts of places, which means you can see inside his ears and see the dirt still stuck in there. Offering to clean them wasn’t a big deal to you, you have to for Grim all the time.
It gets awkward for a minute when he lays his head in your lap, but as soon as the cotton hits the inside and starts wiping up all the dirt and grim, he’s putty in your hands
“I swear they weren’t that bad but-oh. Oh that’s nice. I think I can hear colors now. And your heartbeat. What’s got you racing, huh? I didn’t moo. I did not!”
You got pictures of his family for Malleus
This man has pictures of himself and his parents up on the walls, but none of the rest of his family. So, you work with the ghost for a long time, getting candid shots and other bit and pieces and slowly pulling them together. When Malleus’s birthday rolls around, you actually feel nervous about it.
When he opens his present, to see the photo album, he gets unexpectedly quiet and soft, scanning through the quotes and stories written off to the side. You give little tidbits of how you get some shots, especially the times where you were sure that Lilia knew but didn’t say anything.
Some even had him! Silver putting him in a headlock during some play wrestling, Lilia tapping his nose while playing chess, a rare moment of him and Sebek reading together where the half fae is actually relaxed.
At the bottom are small, framed photos of what you thought were the best ones. Silver in his armor, surrounded by animals and birds alike, his sword gleaming with sunlight, looking gentle and graceful and alert. Sebek on horseback, wind streaking his hair to his skull and grinning like a madman, his favorite stead racing fearlessly. Lilia leaning against the railing of the balcony of Diasomnia dorm and watching the sunset, eyes fond and pink in the dying light.
“I can’t think of a single present I have ever received that has been as thoughtful as this one. Your heart truly knows a kindness that is rare, my friend. But you are missing. Let us take one together. A selfie, yes?”
#twisted wonderland#twst#twst wonderland#malleus draconia#ruggie bucchi#azul ashengrotto#Trey Clover#Riddle Rosehearts#twst Trey#twst Azul#twst Ruggie#twst Riddle#twst malleus#twst x reader#twst x yuu
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If you’re doing requests and it’s not too much trouble what about Astarion and getting patched up and taken care of by mc
Here you go babes <33 (Also, if he's a little out of character, I apoligize, I really did try my best lol) WC: 1k
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“Ow! Gods, could you at least try to be gentle?” Astarion hisses at the sting of the salve you’ve concocted, startling you into jerking the cloth you’re using away.
You huff and drop your hands into your lap, brows furrowed in very clear annoyance, “I am trying. If you’d stop squirming, it wouldn’t hurt so much.”
“Well, if it didn’t hurt so much, I wouldn’t be squirming, would I?” He quips. You roll your eyes.
Taking his wrist ever so gently, you turn it so you can see the gash on his forearm, fingers deft and kind even despite his whining. He’s being difficult; unreasonable. You’d be justified in being cruel with him.
You’re careful not to press so hard as you swipe the cloth over the jagged edge of his wound, blood seeping into the fabric and staining the off-white linen a dark crimson. Mouth quirked down, your face is drawn tight with a frustration he’s never seen on you before.
He hates it.
The fabric catches with a jolt of pain and he flinches more than he would normally, startling you away again.
You tut at him, stern, “Astarion.”
Sighing, he returns his arm to you wordlessly and glances away with a small, “Sorry.”
“You should have been more careful.” You chastise as you press the cloth against his wound; firm, but not harsh. Never harsh.
He scoffs, rolls his eyes, “So you're saying this is my fault.”
He wasn’t being serious, but it seems you take it as such. Your nose scrunches, and for a split second, you look properly upset with him. He’s expecting you to snap at him, maybe shout and finally leave him to tend to his wounds alone as he usually would.
You don’t. Instead, you take a breath and sigh, looking rather disappointed.
“You know that’s not what I meant. Contrary to what you may believe, I do actually care about you and your wellbeing.�� Your voice is void of any sort of humour as you look back at his arm. Swapping the soiled cloth for a smaller, cleaner one, you fold it in half and press it to his arm, not sparing him a glance as you instruct him, “Hold this.”
He does as you’ve asked, and a stifling silence engulfs his tent. As you rifle through some healing supplies, he tries to come up with a way to get you talking again.
“Why-,” His voice doesn’t come out right and he clears his throat to fix it. It comes out wrong anyway, “Why are you helping me? This wouldn’t have been the first time I’ve dressed a wound on my own, you know.”
“That doesn’t mean you should have to.” You reply as you begin securing the cloth to his arm with bandages, “No one deserves to suffer alone.”
The sentiment makes his stomach twist. “No one?” He huffs a wry puff of laughter, “Not even someone like Cazador?”
Your face contorts in abhorrence, “I meant good people don’t deserve to suffer alone. That bastard deserves every bit of suffering he has coming to him.”
He barely even registers the second part of what you’ve said, too busy reeling from the first.
Good people don’t deserve to suffer alone.
Good people.
“You... think I’m good?” He asks far too softly.
Finally looking back up at him, you look utterly confused as you nod, “Of course I do.”
He opens his mouth only to find he’s seemingly lost his voice. His gaze flits over just about every inch of your face, searching for any sign that you’re lying; a glance away, a twitch of your mouth. Anything.
He doesn’t find one. His heart sinks and sings simultaneously and suddenly, he can barely breathe.
“Why?” He murmurs. Part of him thinks he’s not equipped to cope with your answer.
There’s a moment where you just... look at him. He’d say staring, but he doesn’t think that’s quite what this is. What you’re doing would be better described as seeing him; all of him. His heart, his soul. Everything.
“Good people can do bad things and still be good, Astarion. And being good doesn’t always mean being a saint.” Your voice is kind; tender. Maybe a little joking towards the end. He guesses you’ve seen the apprehension on his face when your hands slide down his arm to cradle his own. Dipping to catch his gaze, your own is suddenly serious; unwavering, “What happened to you, the things you did. None of that was your fault. You told me what Cazador did to you when you disobeyed him. I’d be just as terrible to deem you a monster for going along with it knowing what would have happened to you if you didn’t.”
Your words strike him like a hard blow to the chest. Perhaps he’s not all that concerned with being a good person, but he’s never truly wanted to be evil, either.
Eyes stinging, he lets out a shaky breath through his nose as he cups the nape of your neck to guide your forehead to his lips. He lingers there for a moment before he wraps his arms around you and pulls you in tight, mumbling against your hairline, “Thank you.”
Snaking your arms around his waist, you squeeze him just as fiercely, “Of course, my love.”
The laugh that escapes him comes out too watery for his liking, but he finds he doesn’t mind quite as much when its only you around to hear, “‘My love’? Isn’t that my line?”
You snort, and he feels you smile against his collar, “Perhaps.” “You do know that reusing material that isn’t yours is in poor taste, don’t you, darling?”
“Hush.” You pull back smiling, shaking your head as you ask in faux exasperation, “Now, will you please let me finish bandaging this?”
He follows your gaze to his arm and huffs dramatically, “I suppose.” “Oh, you suppose, do you?” You sass as you take hold of his wrist again, careful not to wrap the bandages too tight, “Do you also suppose you’ll sit still for me this time?”
“I do.” He grins.
And he does.
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Squeaky Clean 4
Warnings: non/dubcon and other dark elements. My username actually says you never asked for any of this.
My warnings are not exhaustive but be aware this is a dark fic and may include potentially triggering topics. Please use your common sense when consuming content. I am not responsible for your decisions.
Character: Steve Rogers
Summary: You start work as a maid but you’re not prepared for the mess your client brings with him. (maid AU – plus!reader)
Note: yeah…
As usual, I would appreciate any and all feedback. I’m happy to once more go on this adventure with all of you! Thank you in advance for your comments and for reblogging ❤️
A yawn strains your cheeks but you lock it behind your lips. Your eyes water with the constant glaze of fatigue. It could be the work; it’s a lot more physical than you expected, or it could be your usual insomniac tendencies. Whatever it is, doesn’t matter. You just need to get through the day.
You drizzle the tub cleaner around the brim of the porcelain and watch it trickle down. There’s a hint of something scented still in the air. You note the bag of epsom salts on the little shelf. You guess Steve took your advice.
As you wait for the grime dissolver to do its thing, you turn and wipe down the thing, working methodically around the toothbrush holder and the white cup. You even clean the mirror, making sure not to miss a single inch. If you keep your hands moving, you don’t fixate on how dull this all is.
You grab your sponge and turn to crank on the faucet. You bend over the tub and set to work. Your shirt presses to the brim and you feel the moisture seep through to your stomach. You use the running water to scrub the cleaner to suds. The scent roils in the air.
You reach to the other side, one hand on the edge as you strain. You push your toes into the bathmat to extend further. As you feel you might tip into the deep basin, a firm weight settles along your hips and keeps you steady. You kick your feet into the floor as your head snaps up.
You squeeze the sponge in your fist and lean it against the opposite wall. You twist to see over your shoulder, squirming as Steve stands behind you, holding you as you sputter dumbly. What is he doing?
“You looked like you needed help?” He grins.
Your mind and heart race, competing to the panic line. What the hell? You want to yell at him to get off but your caution chokes the protest from you. As much as he’s overstepping, you need the job. Your landlord doesn’t care that the market is shit, he just wants his money.
“I’m... fine,” you eke out.
“You sure?” He asks.
“Yeah, er,” you nudge his fingers with your yellow glove as you turn back to your task. “I’m sure.”
“Well, let me know,” he loosens his grip and drags it around to your lower back. His touch sends a shiver through you. He draws away and the warm lingers there, another spatter as suddenly a clap stings across your ass.
You grunt and keep yourself steady with the hand pressed to the wall. Your eyes widen in disbelief. Steve hums as his footsteps softly retreat. You shudder as you stare at the ivory tile embossed with lilies. He didn’t just...
You scrub in circles as you wade through the shock of the encounter, trying to convince yourself it didn’t happen. You still feel the impact hot against your jeans. You rinse the tub out and stand. Maybe it’s from bending over for so long or the cleaner but you’re dizzy.
You finish up the bathroom but can’t make yourself leave. Where is he? Is he hiding? Does he realise what he did? Is he embarrassed?
Alright, you guess you can talk to Jan at the agency and get this sorted out. Yeah, you need a new client. This one isn’t working out. You gather up the cleaners and tiptoe out of the room. You stop short as you near your kit by the shoe mat. He can hear you. He has super hearing, right?
You’re further shaken by the reminder of his superiority. Before, you only thought of the disparity of your bank accounts, you hadn’t even considered the most obvious disadvantage. More than just the physical. He is Captain America.
Would he notice if you left early? He could report you first if he did. Then you’re the one getting dumped, not him. Between the two of you, he’d be the one they’d want to keep. You’re just another cleaner. You can be replaced.
So get through it and hope you can get a new placement. Hopefully closer to home. Or maybe further. Anywhere, really.
You wade through the townhouse warily. You wipe down the dining table as your mind wanders away. The table presses into your tummy. You look down and retract. Would anyone believe you? You’re nothing special. Steve Rogers wouldn’t waste his time on you. I mean, he works with Black Widow and have you seen her in a body suit?
Stop. Focus. Just get it done.
You continue your usual path through the house. Knocking on each door, checking that each room is empty before you tend to it. As you find each vacant, your dread builds. You’re not so sure he’s hiding from you out of shame now. It’s starting to feel like a game. Like he’s taunting you.
As you return to the entry way to grab your vacuum and do your final walkthrough, you stop just before the banister post. You stare at the broad set of shoulders as they slowly turn to you. You swallow and clutch the cloth in your hand tight as Steve turns to you in full regalia.
Cowl, suit, shield. He’s dressed to the nines in his Cap attire. It doesn’t look as campy as on the television. You can see the intricacy of the armour along his gauntlets and the way it lines his ribs just so, alluding to the wall of muscle beneath. That's what he is in that moment, a barrier. The door is behind him.
“Hey, sweetheart,” his jaw looks sharper as the top of his face is hidden under the cowl. “Looking for something?”
You shake and point to the vacuum. He turns and looks around, grabbing the vacuum by the hose and dragging it around. He raises the flat end and wiggles it toward you.
“There you go,” his eyes shine through the cowl.
You shuffle forward and reach for the body of the vacuum. You squeak as he stops you by poking the vacuum nozzle against your chest. You flinch and reel back. He jabs until you’re walking backwards. You squeeze the cloth in your hand until your knuckles hurt.
You hit the banister post and stare at him dumbly. He pushes the flat attachment down so you feel your chest bulge around it. His eyes follow and he lightly jiggles you with the plastic end. You grab it instinctively to stop him.
“Steve,” you hiss.
He chuckles and flips the end free of your grasp. He taps your chin, just enough to make you flinch, and you recoil, showing your hands defencelessly. The cloth drops to the floor as he raises your head with the firm prod of the vacuum.
“They won’t believe you. Captain’s got a lot more going on than whoever’s scrubbing his toilet,” he steps closer, towering over you. You glower up at him, stomach roiling with disgust. “But hey, Stark’s got attorneys on retainer. He owes me one.”
Your lip trembles helplessly and you shake your head. “Why--”
He tuts and taps your chin again, quieting you. His smile remains as he leans in and brings his other hand up, tugging at the top of your shirt until he exposes your cleavage. You press yourself against the banister and whimper.
“Because I can,” he snaps the tension in your collar before letting go. “But the good cap’s gotta go save the world before he gets his prize.” He backs up and once more offers up the vacuum hose, “and you gotta make sure he comes home to a nice clean house. Like a good girl.”
You grab the hose and he keeps hold of it. You hold his gaze as the urge to rip it away and swat him shakes in your grip. He snickers again. You won’t win this battle.
“Tell Jan I say ‘hi’ and I’ll have that client survey done soon,” he lets go and turns away with a sigh. He turns to the door and puts his hands out, cupping them emphatically as he looks from one to the other. “You sure are a handful.”
#steve rogers#dark steve rogers#dark!steve rogers#steve rogers x reader#series#drabble#maid au#squeaky clean#mcu#marvel#captain america#avengers
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toji x fem!reader // sfw! a little meet cute moment with some sprinkles of sadness synopsis: reader cleans and maintains abandoned graves, including that of toji's late wife.
𝐓𝐎𝐉𝐈 doesn’t visit his late wife’s grave often, if ever.
it’s easy to say that it’s because he doesn’t care, that he’s lost all respect for the world and those on, or buried beneath it. yet, the reality is that he’s ashamed, a bit of a coward. how could he face her again? how could he read the letters of her name knowing he’d been unable to grant the one request she’d given him? take care of megumi.
he doesn’t know why he’s walking in the direction of the cemetery, an old, surely run down patch of land that’s now nestled between some homes just outside of shinjuku.
maybe the weight of his most recent job gets to him. maybe it’s nearing what would’ve been their anniversary. maybe the weather reminds him of her funeral, in which him and baby megumi were the only attendees.
a rock gets kicked a good few meters away as he remembers that day. her family had cut her off after she’d married him, seeing nothing good coming out of their future, feeling disdain at the mention of their daughter marrying man with not a thing to his name. toji scoffs. perhaps they were right.
the overcast sky does nothing for the scenery ahead, which consists of old, rusted cemetery gates and a wall made of dull, greyed stones.
however, a splash of color stands out against the monochrome background. it’s all instinct, the way his senses hone in, but it’s not because you’re the only other person in the cemetery, not because your colored scarf makes you particularly identifiable.
no, it’s because you, a stranger, are standing in front of his wife’s grave.
despite the numerous leaves on the ground, the rather quiet environment, you don’t hear him approach.
you’re focused on your task, your brows ever so slightly knitted, a bristly brush in your hand which you use to scrub away at any debris wedged between the letters of this grave. dust, mud, leaf litter… it gets removed with each gentle movement.
a bottle of cleaner is in your other hand, spraying the stone every now and then when it gets too dry or when a particularly stubborn piece of debris refuses to be erased from existence.
one little stain catches your attention, so much so that you ignore how the autumn wind nips at your cheeks. it’s just about removed. a little more, a little more…
“what are y’doing?”
a small gasp leaves you, or maybe you choke on air, and your hands retract from the gravestone as if you’d been burned. you take a couple of steps back, a natural response, wanting to put some distance between you and whoever else has decided to join you in the cemetery.
the sudden move results in you kicking over your coffee cup, your mind a mess as you crouch down and keep it from spilling any further. you put your tools away, too, placing the brush and spray bottle into a tote containing a few other items.
toji doesn’t mean to intimidate or scare you.
it’s just… how he is. it’s in the energy he carries, how he presents himself to the world that’s done him more harm than good. he’s suspicious of you, reasonably so.
when you finally stand and look up at him, he can see the anticipation in your eyes. your hands fidget, unsure of whether to retreat into your pockets or rise in self defense.
“i’m so sorry,” are your immediate words, sincere. “i didn’t know she had visitors.”
she.
why are you talking about her like you were a part of her life? toji is sure he’s never met you before. he doesn’t remember his late wife saying a thing about weirdos who hang out in cemeteries, either.
those green eyes of his narrow, just a bit. he doesn’t have to say anything more, his stance is enough. you haven’t answered his question and he isn’t going to ask again.
“i, um, clean graves,” you answer after a few heartbeats, a little put off by his stare. “i’ve been coming by for the past year, clean up every month or two. i usually wait and make sure no one comes by. i thought it was abandoned, i’m so sorry.”
the situation isn’t entirely new to you. it’s not the first time you’d been ‘caught’, and the reactions you’ve gotten have ranged from grateful to furious, but it’s jarring each time. how could it not be? you’re not a fool, you know these people meant something to someone, that they represent more than the headstones ever could.
your eyes remain on his, equal parts apologetic and bashful, clearly genuine.
toji’s posture relaxes, just a bit.
a part of that has to do with the smidge of guilt he feels. abandoned. he couldn’t be surprised. after all, he never visited, never paid for cleaning services.
perhaps a normal person would say thank you, but the words fizzle out on his tongue. he’s not one for such words, or at least that’s what he tells himself.
“it’s fine,” he ends up saying, curt, to the point, not giving away the extent of what he’s thinking or feeling.
even those two words have you feeling relieved, a long sigh leaving your lips. you can’t deny that you’re itching to leave, still a little unnerved. being alone with a strange man in a cemetery isn’t exactly on your bucket list, so you reluctantly reach down and grab your things.
your bag gets slung over your shoulder, but your coffee… well, you’re pretty much left with an empty cup now. the liquid had spilt all over the concrete floor when he’d spooked you earlier.
“i’ll leave her alone,” you promise him, truly not looking to cause any conflict. “sorry again…”
for a second, toji considers leaving it at that.
his eyes drift from you to your empty cup. he should feel bad, should be a decent person, but can’t find it in himself to reassure you.
he needs a nudge, and that nudge is given to him in the form of an acorn falling from the tree rooted over his wife’s grave.
the small object hits him right on the head, reprimanding him for his actions. toji grunts, his hand coming up to rub at the spot where the damn thing whacked him. he should’ve sensed it, should’ve been aware of its existence as soon as it snapped off the branch.
his eyes look up toward the sky, almost glaring, and for a second he can almost hear her voice, scolding him.
“don’t be mean, toji!”
with a click of his tongue, he looks back at you. you, who’d taken care of his wife in death as he’d cared for her in life.
inhaling, he decides to screw it all and take a step toward you. maybe being a decent human wouldn’t kill him. maybe.
“look, i didn’t mean to freak you out or make you spill your drink,” it’s the closest thing to an apology he’ll give, but it’s better than nothing.
he recognizes the logo on your cup, then nods his head toward the cemetery gates. “let me at least buy you a new one,” he offers, though by the sound of it, it’s quite clear he wants to do this for you. “what’s your name, anyway?”
you tell him, then he gives you his.
the sun starts to burn away at the clouds, warming the earth just as you’re about to leave the cemetery. things grow a little brighter, a whole shift in the atmosphere.
toji doesn’t comment on the gust of wind ushering you two out of the gates, the rustle of leaves which could pass as a hushed cheer. no, he won’t say anything, not even if the breeze on his back feels like the hands of his late wife, pushing him toward something new.
his eyes flicker down, watching you, noting the curve of your cheeks and the slope of your nose. he shakes his head, steels his heart, ignoring the small jump it does as you look back at him.
no, he won’t say anything, not at all.
#toji fushiguro x reader#fushiguro toji x reader#toji x you#toji x y/n#toji fluff#toji x reader#i rlly like this one i cant lie#lowkey inspired by that one tik tok account of the person who goes around cleaning abandoned graves#yet again I must ask: do we see the vision
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Asymmetrical Symphony - Part 3
Universe: Arcane (LOL)
Pairing: Viktor x reader
Summary: You had been on the rooftop with Jayce and the Herald and somehow you were sent to a place where things can be different with your help
Disclaimers and Warnings: If you want me to tag you on the chapters let me know! Also leave a comment with your thoughts :D Not finished, not proofread. English isn't my 1st language. All I know about LOL is from google and all I know about Arcane is taken from the show, so inacuracies will be plenty. I have a sort of idea on how to I'm gonna go with magic and runes, so bear with me. The reader will be written and GN (going by they/them) to get everyone involved, but if you see any discrepancies let me know.
A.N.: You are all too kind. This is probably one of the few parts that will be made from Vik's POV. Here is the plan. Part 4 will have some interaction / Part 5: house cleaning / Part 6: onwards and upwards. Should I tag this as a slowburn?
Part 1 • Part 2
• ··········· • ············ •
Viktor didn’t believe in luck.
If he had done so, all his accomplishments could have been derived from it. So he didn’t believe in it much. Sure, maybe finding some coins on the floor was luck, but not much more than that.
Everything he did and does is to make sure nothing is left to luck—every number on the blackboard, every calculation on his blueprints.
But now, standing in the middle of the destroyed council room, Viktor felt lucky. Extremely lucky.
Some workers were trying to clean the room as best as they could, but the full reconstruction wasn’t going to be quick. He tried to stay out of their way as he walked towards where he sat when the rocket hit.
He stood silently observing the broken remnants of the chair he sat on that night. What remained of it couldn’t even keep the smallest of fires alight.
His tired gaze turned to where he had landed after the stranger had tackled him.
A mountain of rubble was strewn about everywhere at his feet, but it was somehow less destroyed when compared to the rest of the room. The stone councilors' chairs were mostly destroyed, but the one Mel sat on seemed to have mostly remained intact. The table was split into several heavy pieces, but the one near them had somehow suffered less, only having cracks where it seemingly separated from the rest of the table.
Viktor stood next to the crack, his cane in front of him. And he swayed left and right.
“Lucky” Sway to the left: “Unlucky”
He stayed like this for a couple of seconds, the motion almost making him think better until he saw something shining as a cleaner swept the dust near his feet.
“Stop.” He ordered suddenly and looked at the small amount of dust the other man had cleaned.
With his cane, he searched the dust until a golden chain shimmered in the light. He dragged the cane and pulled the chain with it.
“This yours, sir?” The cleaner asked, and Viktor took a second to reply. “No, but it could be Councillor Medarda’s. Would you be so kind as to pick it up for me, please?”
The other man nodded and bent down. As he pulled the broken chain, a small locket slid from it. The cleaner huffed at having to bend down again, but he did so, giving Viktor the locket.
“Thank you, sir.” The scientist nodded absently, his mind already focused on another thing.
He leaned his back against the table, letting the cane rest next to his leg. If his calculations were correct, which they were, he was standing next to where both he and the stranger fell.
“Is this yours?” He asked no one, turning the small piece of jewelry in hand.
It was a simple, small, and delicate thing. Engraved on both covers was a mirrored R, with some flourished lines around it and a rose in the middle of the letter. It had a small lip on the side where he could open it. Ever the curious person, Viktor opened the locket. A picture of a woman was inside.
He frowned. It was a faded, sepia-toned photo of a smiling woman. A familiar-looking smiling woman.
He closed the locket as quickly as he could and went to his lab. He yanked the door open and stuck his head inside, making Jayce’s head snap to him. By the expression on the tanner man’s face, he immediately regretted it.
“Aaahh… by the gods, Viktor… my neck…” “I told you to keep wearing the brace...Jayce. You've chosen to ignore me.” He paused a moment until Jayce looked at him expectantly. “Right. Do you know if Caitlyn has already spoken with the stranger?”
“Why?” Jayce’s eyes became slits as he tried to understand his friend's line of questioning.
“No matter. Just wanted to know their name.”
“Why?” Jayce fully turned on the wheelie bench.
“Because. Academic curiosity. They should be running out of the building targeted by the rocket...not running in...”
Jayce sighed, knowing full well that man was going to go around all of Piltover trying to find that person. He rested his elbow on the table and his cheek in his hand.
“I haven't talked to Caitlyn since…” he cleared his throat. “But! Mel told me the enforcers had cuffed them to a bed and shipped them off to the hospital.”
Viktor nodded, content with the information. He moved to leave, but his head bobbed back inside the lab.
“Skyward?” He asked, and Jayce’s snort was enough of an answer. ..
He got out of the taxi trolley and looked at the bright white building displeased. He just needed to confirm where the stranger was to then set his plan in motion.
He limped towards the receptionist and cleared his throat.
“I would like to know any information about the person that was accompanied here by the enforcers from the attack.” He tried to sound professional and solemn. “I’m not allowed to divulge information on patients, let alone on patients that are under the enforcers' care.” The blonde woman looked up at him lazily. “Anything else?” “Eh... Yes... no... well...” Viktor looked around. No enforcers in sight. “I have something that might belong to them.” “Leave it here or give it to an enforcer. I’m sure someone will find them for you and give them back their…thing.” “I was hoping you could help me find them. You see, I am a...friend." He lied like it was second nature, but when she looked back at him, he knew she didn’t buy it. “Sure you are. If you excuse me, people are waiting in line.” She looked around him and motioned her hand to call an old lady from behind him, shutting down any path to a conversation.
Her loss, Viktor thought; he was about to offer her money for the info.
“Thank you for your help.” He tried to bite back the snark, but he felt it drip like oil, tinging his words black.
He turned around, limping and grumbling towards the exit.
“Hey, Hextech man, wait.” Viktor turned towards the call, to find a nurse jogging towards him from the reception. He had noticed her leaning into the desk as he had arrived but ignored her. Nurses were normal in the hospital. “Yes?” “They’ve already been taken to the headquarters.” She whispered and shrugged when his eyebrows raised. “I heard you asking Lilah about the ‘patient with the enforcers’ and since we don’t usually get many of those, I knew who you were talking about.” “How long ago was it?” He asked, and she shrugged again. “About 5, 10 minutes ago.” He straightened up as best as he could and nodded, turning on his heels and walking quickly to the door. He still heard her say something about ‘being good with the accent.’.
--
He turned the locket in his hand as he sat in the comfiest armchair in all of Piltover while looking down at a rousing Piltover.
This was his favorite part of the lavish penthouse. He was never a jealous person when it came to material things; he always learned to get by with next to nothing, and he prided himself on that. But this living room? This would forever make him green with envy.
It was spacious, wide, tall, and bright. The walls were lined with bookshelves that reached the high ceiling. It was filled with books, music records, pictures, awards, and some clutter that made the space feel lived in. The higher shelves had books that could only be reached by a little golden ladder that swiveled left and right.
In a corner stood a dusty black grand piano. It was closed and mostly used as a table with more books and knick-knacks on top. And next to it, encased in the bookshelf, a three-tier record player.
In the middle of the room was a couch, with wooden frames and green stuffing, with a yellow blanket neatly folded in the corner and two pillows. Beside it, facing each other, are two loveseats of similar color and design.
A long white wood coffee table was perfectly placed in the center of the seats right in front of what Viktor loved the most in this room.
The floor-to-ceiling windows, protruding out from the square room, ended in a dome glass ceiling. A mix of a conservatory and a closed veranda. It filled the whole room with the morning sun.
The floor near it was lined with greenery, in an assortment of pots. Everything from wall-hugging plants that were slowly making their way up and small pots of smaller succulents. In the middle of the veranda, two armchairs of a night sky blue color and a small but tall round table sat, facing the big windows.
Viktor currently sat on one of those chairs and was making an effort not to melt into them. Between the comfortableness of the cushions, the smell of books, and the sun hitting his face, he could be convinced he was in heaven.
“Viktor?” A bright older voice came from behind him, startling him enough to jump out of the chair and drop his cane. A chuckle came out of the woman behind him. “It’s just little, old me, dear.”
The scientist blushed, grabbed the cane from the floor with difficulty, and stood once more.
The woman was tall, standing proud with her salt-and-pepper hair neatly tucked into an updo, a few strands coming out of it for aesthetics rather than messiness. The kind smile on her face was genuine, and her warm eyes stared at him expectantly. She had a neat stack of paper under her arm, and, Viktor noted, her hands were smudged with black ink.
On her neck, a gold locket sat shining. An almost exact copy of the one in his pocket, but the one on the older woman’s neck was engraved with the correct R.
“I am terribly sorry to disturb you this early, but I have something you should see.” He grabbed the locket and showed it to her. The small piece of jewelry rested delicately on his pale hand.
She inspected it with her eyes at first and then grabbed it. Much like he had done previously, she turned it in her long fingers, opening it and letting out a gasp.
“Where do you find this?” She inquired, not taking her eyes off the locket. “At the Academy.” He told her, only half lying. “Who was wearing it? Do you know?” “Eh…not personally.” He swung his head side to side, scratching the back of his neck. “I’ve only seen a glimpse of them.” “Do you know where I can find them? The owner of the locket?”
His face brightened, the answer on the tip of his tongue.
“The Enforcers HQ.” He said proudly. “Very well, we must go there. Immediately.”
The woman placed the stack of papers on the coffee table and moved quickly, preparing for their departure with swiftness.
“Come now, Viktor. We must hurry.”
…
Both Caitlyn's eyes shifted to the door behind you. She blinked and stood back, straightening her shoulder and getting out of your personal space.
“I am interrogating a suspect. And, with all due respect, I do not appreciate being interrupted, even by you, ma’am.”
You twisted your neck to look behind you. A tall woman stood just outside the door, the dim light of the corridor concealing most of her form, until she moved inside and you gasped.
The last time you had seen that face was in a hospital bed when you were ten. Hollowed cheekbone, sunken eyes, and a peaceful smile on her face. “Take care of your father, dear.” Were the last words she had said to you.
Before your vision got so blurry from tears you could see her face, you mumbled.
“Mother?”
• ··········· • ············ •
@marshy-moo @victormydarling @blueesmiski @th3stup1dcat @22carolina08 @httpstes @adithsaley @that-one-shitty-blog @disa-pointment @sseleniaa @angelsukiipls @casey8522 @moons-lighttrail @buttermilktea11 @aysluxe @fae-doodle
#imagine#arcane#arcane imagine#arcane x reader#viktor#viktor arcane#viktor imagine#viktor x reader#viktor arcane imagine#viktor arcane x reader#headcanons#arcane viktor x you#viktor x y/n#arcane viktor x reader#viktor x you#arcane viktor#viktor league of legends#arcane imagines#arcane headcanon#arcane reader
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I think, for every one of us, there is a popular post that we hate A Lot, because it is either factually wrong or reductive, and while this isn't the post I hate The Most, it still irks me.
So, here's how to care for natural fibres:
Wool: Does not like to be washed, but that doesn't mean it can't get wet. What is problematic is the agitation in combination with heat and soap - that leads to felting. Wool garments do not go in the washing machine (unless they're superwash treated, but even then, I would skip the spin cycle) or dryer. However! Wool makes up for that by being antibacterial and repelling dirt. A wool garment will not smell, as long as you treat it right (ie air it out, do not stuff it into storage damp, etc). It will not need to be washed often. If you do wash it, soak with wool detergent, gently squeeze, dry lying flat (if you wring it or hang it up, it will stretch out).
Silk: DO NOT PUT IT IN THE DRYER WTF IS WRONG WITH YOU. Some silks can be gently(!!!!!!) washed in the washing machine, no spin cycle, dry lying flat. Washing can compromise the structural integrity of both the fabric and garment; something stiff, that needs to keep its shape (for example, jackets or dresses, dupion) goes to the dry cleaner. It is true that flowy, light silks, such as habotai, can generally withstand the washing machine - but it will make the fabric age faster. Wear underwear to protect your garment from sweat, and you won't have to wash it as often.
Cotton: We all know how to care for cotton. Moving along. (I will say one thing, cotton is the only one of these fibres that really does stink, and needs to be washed the most.)
Linen: Will not care about temperature shocks or mechanical stress, that much is true. However. Linen does not like dry heat at all, if you want your linens to last a long time, do not put them in the dryer. Do not iron them dry either, always use either steam or spray them with water (ideally, both). Linen also doesn't take colour as well as cotton and bleaches easily, so turn your colourful linens inside out, wash them on low temperature, and don't dry them in direct sunlight.
In general, tumble drying significantly shortens the lifespan of any garment, even cotton. As does fabric softener (and its general usefulness is questionable, to say the least). Avoid both as much as possible.
#ik nobody cares about this#but here you go#oooooh wool is so dEliCaTe!!!#anyway linen can be abused to hell it doesnt give a shit abt anything :) no. wrong on both counts. go to jail.#hrgh i hate this fucking post
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FANTASY-THEMED BOT RELEASE !!! (12/20/24) ⌢ ✨ .ᐟ
art donaldson ・゜゜・.angelic inquisitions. he's your guardian angel. while he's not as naïve as he appears to be, art is not as well-versed in some parts of human culture as he is in others. you've opted to give him some hands-on experience when it comes to the more... romantic side of humanity, and that alone in and of itself is more daunting than anything he's done. you'll just have to forgive him if your lesson ends with him short-circuiting any electronics in the area... it's really not his fault.
art donaldson ・゜゜・.siren song. in a small, seaside town like new rochelle, tales of sirens are shared as warnings— and as reasoning for their curfew as soon as the sun sets over the sea cliffs. no one has spotted in one in decades since the town's formation, but no one dares to investigate if the infamous mythological creatures truly reside in the waters that span their coast... all until art's curiosity gets the best of him. what's the point of being wary of something if it doesn't truly exist? he'll quickly come to learn that some legends are based in fact, not fiction.
patrick zweig ・゜゜・.bones and all. you knew patrick was the same as you the moment your eyes met; you don't live with something like vampirism your entire life and not know how to spot it in others. still, with patrick came understanding, and with understanding came connection. still, it doesn't help to soothe the ache that's left whenever your true nature manages to slip out, but patrick would never hold something like that against you. with you both being vampires, there's nothing guaranteed for the two of you in terms of safety and security, and patrick would never forgive himself if you got hurt. everything he does— every thought, every action, every unnecessary breath from lungs that don't require air— is for you.
patrick zweig ・゜゜・.post-full-moon blues. patrick's always a bit irritable and clingy after the full moon leaves its toll on his body, so his routine of trudging in at the wee hours of the morning is all but commonplace at this point. just because it was patrick underneath all the fur, teeth, and claws didn't mean that he was any better than the overactive golden retriever that belonged to the grocer in town, and that fact is all the more apparent when he comes in smelling like the woods, dirt, and wet dog (not that you'd ever tell him that). but sleep disturbances and handsy touches aside...he's had a long night. give him a little break.
tashi duncan ・゜゜・.staking her claim. most vampires weren't dumb enough to encroach on what tashi's claimed as hers— not when she's been around for as long as she has. but when some fledgling vampire at the club she's taken you to puts his hands on her human... it's more than enough to make the vampiress seethe. maybe she should have chosen some other place to take you to— somewhere older, cleaner, and that served more dignified vampires like herself who understood their kind's customs. tashi doesn't share, nor does she ever plan to, and she's more than willing to prove that for all to see.
got a request? go ahead and leave em here :) THANK YOU GUYS SO SO MUCH FOR FOR 7.2K! that number is so crazy i'm still processing it... thank you thank you thank you!!!! these were so much fun to make omg especially the patrick ones... patrick zweig "bones and all"... definitely hope i can make some more bots like this in the future! shoutout to 🥧 anon fr and juliana and diya and lee and the countless other anons who send requests both on here and on my request form... u all do the most and keep this thing going lol. love you guys! <333333
#c.ai creator#voidsuites bots#art donaldson#art donaldson x reader#art donaldson bot#patrick zweig#patrick zweig x reader#patrick zweig bot#tashi duncan#tashi duncan x reader#tashi duncan bot#c.ai#bot reqs#character ai#challengers#challengers x reader#challengers 2024#challengers bots#challengers 2024 bots
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word count: 3k
- Liar Liar -
Wanda Maximoff x reader
summary - in which, you stumble upon the most beautiful woman you've ever seen while in search of a job you can put your piano skills to use at. The only thing? She's a teacher who thinks you're in search of lessons. All's far in love and music right?
a/n - wanda + music = me fucking dying. lol. haven't updated in a while that's my bad. i love you guuuuyyyyyysss.
⋆˚ఎ ☆ ໒˚⋆ ⋆˚ఎ ☆ ໒˚⋆ ⋆˚ఎ ☆ ໒˚⋆ ⋆˚ఎ ☆ ໒˚⋆ ⋆˚ఎ ☆ ໒˚⋆ ⋆˚ఎ
You hadn’t meant to lie.
You’d went into the slightly shady neighborhood in search of a job, preferably one that let you play piano- your passion- and still had a decent amount of pay so you would be able to afford that apartment you got recently.
It’s a small town though, and no one really has any need for music as they own record players and other forms of listening devices. No one cares about classical music anymore.
Maybe you should have listened when your father told you music would never be a good career.
So you gave up hope, walking downtown to the store to get a simple and cheap frozen dinner that you could watch while sulking in front of the tv. Being an adult is hard, and you often find yourself wondering what you would do if you had just been given one chance to go back in time and not rush growing up.
You heard the familiar and peaceful sound of piano, and just like anytime you hear it, you freeze in the middle of the sidewalk to simply listen. There’s a small store next to all the tall and beautiful ones, one that probably gets lost a lot in the sight of all the other, more important buildings. A young woman is sitting inside near the front, visible through the big glass window that you silently watch her through. Her skilled fingers dance across the keyboard, creating an aura in the world that has you stuck in a magical trance.
The song slowly goes quieter, and you watch her take a deep sigh before turning her head to look out the window- as if knowing you were there. You panic, blushing in embarrassment before you pretend to read the signs taped to the door.
A bright smile graces your face as you actually begin to read them. A few of them just talk about upcoming concerts in town square, but one big one smack dab in the middle catches your eye;
Hiring!
Tutors, managers, cleaners
$16.45 a hour
It’s not a lot of money, but it’s enough and you’d get to do what you love while seemingly getting to hang out with a pretty girl. It’s a win, win, win. For you.
“Sorry. That sign is old. My friend was supposed to take it down.” Someone quietly speaks beside you, and you almost jump in fear when you see that the woman you had previously been looking at through the window is now standing right next to you, staring blankly before she tears the sign off the door. She’s even more pretty in person, from her long auburn hair to her piercing greens eyes that most people would fear as she stares at you silently though all you feel is nervous and giddy.
“Right…well….do you still have any openings?” You ask, placing your hands in your pockets as you rock back and forth on your heels. She watches with curious eyes, crossing her arms over her chest.
She answers quietly, a stark contrast to your happy mood, though she doesn't exactly seem upset. More like calm. “Yes. Lessons are 10 dollars for an hour and a half.”
You frown in confusion. Does she think you’re looking for a teacher? You go to tell her you’re looking to be a teacher, but your eyes fall on the little picture on the door that has a photo of her next to a few others of other people. Under her’s is the title; “owner and teacher”
“Would you be my teacher?” The words fall out of your mouth before you can stop them, so you purse your lips to stop yourself from saying anything else.
The girl’s lips turn upwards in the beginning of a smile. “Yes. I would.”
You practically grin, and it’s like you don’t even remember the several years of college you went through to get a career in music as you say, “Then I’d like to take lessons from you. I like piano. I want to learn how to play.”
She does smile now, nodding as she opens the door which makes the bell above it ring. “That’s great. Follow me and we’ll get you signed up.” You do follow her inside, taking in the beauty of the hidden shop. There are pianos and other instruments everywhere, ones that look worn out yet still pretty. Open songbook’s litter every open space and she gets to the front desk before digging through a pile of them for the forms you need to sign.
After signing way to many forms and paying a small fee, you shake her hand with the one that isn’t cramping.
“Thank you for choosing Scarlett's Melodies. I’m Wanda Maximoff. I own the shop and tutor most of the students.” You smile, squeezing her hand before you awkwardly place your hand in your pocket and introduce yourself.
Wanda. A pretty name for a pretty girl.
You obviously don’t say that though. Anxiety exists yall.
Instead you leave with a new found pep in your step.
That is until you remember that you just spent a ton of money and don’t even have a job. Wow. What the fuck is Wanda Maximoff doing to you?
— – — – — – — – —
After that, you have to get a job, so you get one at the nice restaurant in town that your friend works at. You spend most of your day serving customers, taking orders, and cleaning, and the only reason you continue to do it is that every other day, you just have to think about the fact that once work is over, you get to go see the beautiful piano teacher.
It’s not hard to play down your skill, but it is a little bit funny every time you slip up and tell her you already know something and then have to make the excuse that you’re doing some studying on your own time as well.
Wanda has a sweet personality, though she is a bit cold and standoffish sometimes. You learn a lot about her over the past few weeks though, like her late brother Pietro, her friends Natasha and Clint who are also workers at the store, and how she came to love music so much as to start up her own store for it.
“You’re late.” She says when you run in six minutes past the time you’re supposed to be there, but her tone is light and teasing as she scans through some notes on her sheet music. She lets you take them home sometimes to study them, but you mostly just study her pretty handwriting and the little doodles she leaves for you to find.
You chuckle, taking off your coat and hanging it up next to her leather jacket near the door. The place is cozy and if not for the workers constantly running in and out, you’d say it feels more like a home than a store.
“Sorry. I was at work.” She nods as you speak, handing you a book she made more notes in before pointing over to a piano set up against a wall. It’s nicely toned and made of a beautiful wood, and once she learned it was probably your favorite, she “teaches” you at that one every single lesson.
You sit on the bench, trying your hardest not to blush when she rubs her hand on your back before sitting closely next to you. It’s one of your favorite parts of the lessons- when she sits close enough that you can smell her perfume. Vanilla with a hint of sage, and it’s quickly become one of your favorite scents.
“We’re gonna work on something a bit harder today alright? I think you can do it, but the notes are in a slightly weird pattern and may be hard to remember.” Wanda says, flipping to a page in the book before setting it up on the music rack.
It’s one of your favorites and quite easy to play after years of practicing, but you don’t tell her that.
By the end of the almost two hour lesson, you have pretended to learn the first part of the song, purposefully messing it up every once in a while so you don’t expose yourself.
You’re starting to feel a bit guilty about the lying, but then she smiles proudly and showers you in compliments and you forget all about it.
Wanda walks you to the door, leaning on the wall as you put on your coat and grab your stuff. You’re tired, but that feeling doesn’t even begin to compare to the one that comes when she holds your hand and smiles towards you.
“There’s a small event in town this weekend.” She starts, pointing towards the sign up on her big bulletin board. “A few people playing pieces, some nice food. I think you should join. You’re one of my most advanced students.”
You grin, hesitantly nodding. “I’d love to. That sounds like so much fun.”
The redhead nods as well, smiling slightly as she writes your name down on the sign up sheet. You’ll play after a few other students and teachers, and you must tell her what piece you want to play by tomorrow so you can spend the next few lessons practicing it.
With that you say your goodbyes, lingering in a hug with the Maximoff girl before you finally leave, walking home with a love sick smile on your face. Little did you know, the same one is gracing Wanda’s face as she closes up the shop and makes her way home.
— – — – — – — – —
When the day of the concert comes around, you’re nervous.
You don’t know why. You could play this piece in your sleep, but for some reason, the same nerves that were with you during your first performance as a child are now fluttering around in your stomach as you sit on a piano bench in the town square.
Wanda is talking with some of the other students, and you try and distract yourself by looking at her with adoration in your eyes, but it all comes back at a higher level when she notices you and winks your way.
She’s so pretty, and you fight the urge to slam your head on the instrument as she finishes up her conversation and begins walking towards you.
“Hey hon. How you feeling?” Wanda stands behind you, rubbing your shoulders reassuringly as she reads over the notes on your sheet music. You shrug, blushing brightly at her touch as you pretend to be focusing on smoothing out your shirt of non-existent wrinkles.
“I’m okay. Kinda nervous.” You say, and the blush only deepens when she hums in understanding and places a kiss on the top of your head.
“Don’t be. You’re going to be great.” Her words make you grin, and you lean your head back to rest on her stomach as she gently runs her fingers through your hair. Someone calls her name, so she gently caresses your face before patting your back and walking away.
Oh the things that Wanda Maximoff does to you.
While you’re waiting for your turn on stage, you get bored, so you sit back on the bench and begin to quickly play through one of the hardest songs you know. It took forever to learn and you still mess up every once and a while, but it still would sound beautiful to anyone and by the end of it, you do hear someone slightly chuckle in shock.
It isn't a happy laugh or happy shock though. That much you can tell.
“I didn’t teach you that.” A slightly bitter tone speaks, and you slowly turn around to come face to face with Wanda, fists clenched at her sides and a curious but slightly annoyed expression on her face.
You want to continue to lie, to tell her you’ve been working hard and her lessons are paying off, but no one who’s only been playing for a few months would be able to play that and she obviously knows the truth now.
“You wasted my time.” She says coldly, crossing her arms over her chest. She’s no longer the bubbly girl you’ve come to have the pleasure of knowing, instead going back to the closed off woman you first met. It’s all your fault.
You look down in shame, letting the bouquet rest by your side. “I’m so sorry Wanda.”
Wanda scoffs, glaring at you before she storms out of the room. She’s pissed, but a warm feeling settles in her chest at the knowledge you went through all of this to hang out with her, even with the thought that you don’t have a chance with her. You still wasted her time though, and you lied to her for weeks, almost months. How can she trust that you truly aren’t just some psycho?
You stay in the middle of town square, tears forming in your eyes as more and more people gather to listen to the other pianists. You’re falling in love with Wanda Maximoff, and up until this point, it’s only ever been clear and sunny skies. What are you supposed to do now that your first cloud has appeared?
— – — – — – — – —
After that, you stop going to your lessons.
Wanda finds herself missing you every time 6 o’clock comes around and you don’t come sprinting into the shop with your work uniform still on, rambling about something a stupid customer did like you’ve known Wanda forever. It feels like that, that’s for sure.
You spend every day in an endless cycle. Get up, go to work, walk the long way so you don’t risk running into Wanda outside of her music store, work a nine hour shift, and return to your quiet apartment where you sit in silence and mourn for someone that still lives.
Maybe you should adopt a dog.
One especially rough day, you wake up late, your alarm clock having turned off during a storm last night and reset itself all while you were asleep. Because of this, you wake up with five minutes to get ready and even less time to sprint to work, so you can’t take the long way like you usually do.
It’s lightly sprinkinly outside, so you don’t bother taking a jacket in the midst of chaos. That was clearly the wrong decision, as only a few minutes into your walk there, it starts absolutely pouring, and just like that, your uniform is soaked and you’re shivering. You don’t have any time to go back though, so you fight on, staying right next to the buildings for a bit of protection and you don’t even notice the person carefully watching you as you fastly walk down the sidewalk.
“Hey!” Someone calls out, grabbing your wrist and pulling you into a familiar building. It’s calm and quiet music is playing somewhere, but all you can focus on is that Wanda is standing in front of you, holding out a dry towel for you to grab.
You hesitate, grabbing it and holding it closely around your body in hopes of stopping the cold feeling in your bones. It’s much warmer in here and the only rain is tapping against the window from outside, but Wanda is here and she looks at you with a type of distaste you’ve never seen before.
“I need to get to work. I’m late.” You mumble eventually after a few minutes of silence, but she just puts her hands on your shoulders and rubs them to bring you more warmth as she replies calmly, “No. I don’t want you to catch a cold.”
You go to argue, but she simply shakes her head and sits down at your piano on the other end of the room. She begins to play a simple but calm song, and she watches in the corner of her eye as you sink down on the couch next to the fireplace and slowly close your eyes. You’re still awake though, that much she can tell by the way your fingers tap along to the pattern of the music.
Finally she slowly stops the song, letting her hands fall to rest on her thighs as she stares at the keyboard with her eyebrows furrowed.
“Why would you lie to me?”
You open your eyes, watching with a guilty but sincere look as she chews on her lower lip and gently presses a few of the keys. “I’m truly sorry Wanda. I figured if we spent that time together, I would be able to learn more about you…in hopes of eventually asking you out. It was stupid, and wrong, and I’m sorry.”
She sighs, closing the keyboard cover and turning to face you. “If you had asked, I would have said yes.”
Your eyes widen in shock. Is she messing with you?
Wanda continues, “If you had just told me all of that when we first met, we could have gone out and gotten dinner or- or lunch or on a picnic like normal people.” You nod along, silently fidgeting with the bottom of your shirt. “So go ahead.”
You’re silent for a second, looking around as if wondering if she’s talking to you to which she giggles and nods. That laugh could fix all your issues.
“Wanda Maximoff, I’d really like to get to know you. The right way this time. Will you go out with me?” You ask nervously after clearing your throat and sitting up in your seat.
Wanda smirks, rubbing her chin as if in deep thought. “I don’t know…”
You laugh a bit when she does, though you’re too busy smiling brightly as she nods. “I’d love to go out with you. No lying to me this time though. And you have to teach me that song you were playing at the recital.”
“No way. A magician never reveals their secrets.” You tease, sitting next to her on the bench as she laces your hands together and says with her own smile, “Oh really? So I just agreed to a date for nothing? You’re mean.”
All is fair in love and music though.
⋆˚ఎ ☆ ໒˚⋆ ⋆˚ఎ ☆ ໒˚⋆ ⋆˚ఎ ☆ ໒˚⋆ ⋆˚ఎ ☆ ໒˚⋆ ⋆˚ఎ ☆ ໒˚⋆ ⋆˚ఎ
#wanda maximoff x you#marvel x reader#marvel#the scarlet witch x reader#the scarlet witch#wanda maximoff x reader#wanda maximoff#marvel x you#piano
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