#bf!joe

[djotime]

cutecutecutecutecute<3

[thoughts-nshit]

Lone Bunny

Summary: Reader bumped into a stranger on the street, he was a stranger to her, but she wasn't a stranger to him.

TW: Stalker!Konig, Oblivious!Reader, eventual smut, MDNI, NSFW, murder of a character, piv, oral (f!&m!recieving), Very slowburn, reader is seen as chubby and a virgin, manipulation, loneliness, Konig perspective, writen in 2nd person.

Note: here is the prologue to part one, love you guys xxx words- 947.

Prologue

Perfect

That’s what she was, perfect. Not one flaw, not one bad trait, just perfect.

The first time he saw her she was in her flat, across the road. He had just moved in, he needed a place to rest after being forced onto mandatory leave, ‘too much violence’ he was told by his superior officers. He rolled his eyes at the thought, He was trained to be a killing machine, was there wrong in being too violent? He didn't think so, especially when it came to war.

She was so cute curled on the couch, looking at flashcards, so enthralled in her studies, a dedicated woman, that was one of the countless things that enthralled him in her, day and night she was all he could think about, those thighs, those hips, those lips, that face, so perfect.

For months, he spent hours watching her through the window, learning everything about her. Her favourite colour, her favourite flowers, the way she made her coffee, he knew her schedule, the days she struggled to sleep, her cycle, what she washed her hair with… etc.

He knew everything about her.

Every day, he got closer and closer, about 3 months after discovering this gem, he got into her flat for the first time, the moment he smelled her residual presence, she was at lectures, and he was sprung, but it would be too risky to do anything about it now, he left small cameras, one pointing at her bed, hidden behind a jelly cat of a triceratops, that she never moved, it was far too valuable. Another pointed into the main room, hidden on the doorframe, shrouded by the curtain, dividing the bedroom from the main room.

As he walked around making sure not to leave traces of him, her cat brushing against his legs a few times, he walked into her room, getting even harder. She left her phone, no that would be too much, but he did bring a cable for this reason… he used the cable, connected to his phone, to enter the phone files and installed an app on her phone that would allow him to have a live feed of her phone, the type of app scammers use.

He saw the time and scrambled a bit, rushing out, locking the door with his picking tools, and taking the stairs down, he knew she would be too tired to walk up all 7 flights of stairs, poor hase, he thought to himself, so drained, so tired, how he wished to fill her up, emotionally and physically, he knew she could handle him, he watched what she did to herself daily, he saw her trembling hands, not letting her finish properly, she thought she knew what it would be like to cum, but god she was wrong.

Day in and out, he watched her through the cameras, watched her activity on her phone, what she liked, commented, what she watched, and read, he already knew everything that turned her on, how she wanted the caring roughness, put in a headlock and fucked hard until she passed out from ecstasy and pleasure and fullness, she even wrote about it in a small blog (😉).

Each day, he got slightly bolder stealing her panties from the drycleaning, watching her while she slept, fapped while he watched, but he would never touch her, that boundary would never be crossed without consent, despite the nasty shit she read about cnc and stalkers and serial killers, this girl was fucked up. But perfect.

It was almost a year before he saw her from his window, his scope constantly trained on her window. Today was the day he would finally utter a word to him, he purposefully, through the app he had previously installed, snoozed her alarm, making her late, he waited on the street corner and as soon as she started walking through the crowd, so did he, purposely getting in her way, when bump.

He spoke in German. “pass auf, wo du hin gehst, Hase”

How he wished to speak to her words of love, encouragement, ownership, protection, he just wanted her, to take her, for her to squeeze his head between he thighs after the third hour of devouring her like a starving man. How he wished to see such supple lips wrap around his cock, how he wished to serve her cunt like a dog, but for him to also serve him, rely on him, be possessed by him… And he knew that if it came too, he would kill anyone in the way, but he was pulled out of thought by her apologetic rambling.

“Oh my god, I am so sorry, my head is just in the clouds…with class and all.”

“It doesn’t matter Hase, just watch where you're going, don’t want you getting trampled.”

He saw how her cheeks blushed, how she didn’t recoil like she usually would for anyone else, his hand on her shoulder, the first time he touched her and he was about to cum in his pants, but that would be such a waste. Konig quickly took his hand off her shoulder and left her standing in the street, he felt like jumping for joy, like a schoolboy when his crush says yes to the dance, but this.. was just the first part of his plan.

Once she got back from her lecture, she crashed on her couch, he took that opportunity to give her a gift, a single lavender flower, tucked in her post-box… risky, but so romantic, in his eyes at least, and he watched as she rushed back into her flat, right inline with his scope.

Perfect.

Note: TeeHee

[declanisms]

“joe alwyn thinks he’s better than taylor” as he should?? he’s been using his platform to raise awareness about the literal genocide occurring right now while your favourite real world billionaire who is a fully grown adult at 34 says some inane shit praising her sexist racist bf and remains silent on the matter while also being complicit in the way the superbowl is being used to divert attention from rafah. and all the while swifties continue to hate on this man for the crime of having a moral backbone apparently. they rlly be acting morally reprehensible just like their fave

[bcyhoods]

could I please request steve and shy!reader and her first time staying the night at his place? lots of timid cuddling and just overall sweetness? I loved your first steeb drabble!

ohemgee yay i’m so glad you liked it!! thank u for for such a cute req, i hope i did it justice🫡 | 1k fluff, gn!reader

You were going crazy, without a doubt. You’ve already finished showering, but you’ve been locked away in his bathroom for 15 minutes. The pep talk you’re giving yourself in the foggy mirror does nothing to calm flutter in your stomach.

“Everything okay, honey?” You hear Steve call from down the corridor.

“Yes—Yeah, I’m okay!” The words are rushed and clumsy as the nickname runs through your head on repeat. And while you’re about to sleep in his room for the first time, it’s too domestic for your racing heart. You hope he doesn’t notice.

Giving yourself one final nod of scarce confidence, you pull open the door and softly let it close behind you. You’re practically walking on the balls of your feet so as not to make any noise.

When you peek into his room, you see the plain of Steve’s back facing toward you. You let your gaze shamelessly trace through the freckles and moles that grace his skin, then to the muscles that tense in his biceps as he fluffs one of his pillows. He’s mumbling to himself as he punches and pulls at the cushion.

Once you push past the door, he turns like he’s a child caught stealing the last cookie from the jar. He’s doe eyed with flushed cheeks and messy hair.

“Hey, there you are,” he sings with a gentle smile.

“Hi.” You timidly wave with a smile just as sweet.

“I was getting worried,” he starts as he meets you by the door, “Started to think you fell in or something.” Steve laughs it off, but there’s a small twitch in his eyebrows that threatens to expose his nerves.

Because while you were in the bathroom, Steve had been giving himself his own encouraging speech. One which also fell quite short, but he was better at concealing it. At least he thinks he is.

Your clammy hand reaches for his, a reassuring effort to soothe both your worries. “No search party necessary. I’m still standing,” you reply softly. He releases a hefty exhale — a mixture of a shaky laugh and a sigh of relief — and gives your hand a small squeeze.

“I’ll be right back. You can sleep on either side, I don’t mind.”

He’s quick to jog out, leaving you to roam every inch of his bedroom.

You’ve been in Steve’s room countless times before, you probably have every trinket and frame committed to memory. But every detail has somehow become more intimate since the last time you’ve visited. Every knick knack is a window into Steve Harrington’s being and by tomorrow morning, you’d become even more familiar. The thought only further warms your chest once your eyes land on an old love note you’d given him, preserved in a framed picture of you right on his bedside table.

By the time he returns, you’re already under the covers with a cheesy smile and patting the empty space next to you.

He uses some sort of excuse so that he can keep a dim nightlight on: Just so you can see everything in case you need to get up in the middle of the night. And Steve Harrington doesn’t have a secret aversion to the dark.

No, Steve Harrington is a romantic, and he just really wants to see your pretty face.

“Are you okay?” He whispers as he settles beside you. He moves to bring the blanket up to your chin and traces the underside of your jaw with his knuckle.

“Yes, I’m okay, Stevie.” You giggle at his concerned expression and reach up to smooth out the wrinkle in his brow before you convince yourself not to.

“Good. Good…just checking.”

And though you’re both laying face to face, sharing the same sheets, he’s entirely too far away for your liking. All you would have to do is extend your arms just a few inches until they reach his shoulders. But really, it’s a few inches too much.

“Are you sure you’re okay?” He asks again lowly, noting the pensive expression on your face.

Your stomach flips and your hand flies to pick at the skin of your lips. Now, you would just need to ask. But it’s so difficult when he’s staring right at you, practically oozing adoration. Now there’s a knot in your mouth where your tongue should be.

“Steve?”

He hums. The knot tightens.

“You don’t have to, but…can you, um—would you want to…” you trail off as the rest of your question dissipates.

“Do you…do you want me to hold you?” He finishes for you. He’s already moving to sit up before you can say ‘please,’ eager to wrap you up in his embrace.

You sit up the slightest bit so that he’s able to slither his arm underneath your head. He’s laying on his back while you’re curled into his side. You rest on his bicep, legs tangled with his own and an arm around his middle as you play with the fingers of his other hand.

“Is this okay? Am I hurting you?” You turn slightly so that you’re peering up at his face, chin resting on his shoulder. It’s an awkward angle and you know it’s going to result in a dull ache in your neck, but you can’t be bothered to care with his lips so close.

“No, no,” he’s quick to rush out, “This feels nice. I like this.”

It’s not until you see his wide smile that you notice the ache in your cheeks thanks to your matching expression. Without giving it a second thought, you push yourself up to kiss him, eliciting a sigh from the boy. It’s lazy, and it doesn’t last for more than a few seconds before you’re drawing back to hide your burning face in his chest.

He pauses to gather his bearings and gives you a kiss to the top of your head. “If you wanted a kiss, you could’ve just asked.”

“Shut up, please.”

[suckmyarschkarte]

ok, robbo

[strangererotica]

EXPLICIT CONTENT | MINORS DNI

Steve Harrington x reader | sex in the shower with boyfriend!steve 🧡

You woke to the sound of running water close by. As your eyes blinked open and drifted to the bathroom door, you noticed it had been left slightly ajar. Moist air drifted from inside, along with the woodsy, peppery scent of your boyfriend’s shampoo…

You grinned contentedly, remembering all the ways Steve had made love to you the night before. Stretching your arms and legs under the sheets, you felt a large, damp patch in the middle of the bed, and your smile grew wider. The image of Steve’s face between your thighs lingered in your mind…how handsome he’d looked, covered in your slick from his hairline to his chin. You’d squirted several times in a row as he ate you out, soaking not only Steve but apparently, saturating the sheets beneath you as well.

Memories of last night traveled straight from your mind to between your legs. Your cunt was still puffy and moist from Steve’s efforts the night before. He’d come inside you when he finished, and the combination of Steve’s release and yours was a sticky reminder between your thighs of the cum-soaked state he’d left you in…

You returned your focus to the sound of the shower running in the bathroom, listening to the stream of water shift as Steve’s body moved under it. You decided that waiting any longer for him to fuck you again was not an option. Pulling back the sheets from your body, you tiptoed naked to the bathroom, and gently crept inside. The small room was warm and inviting, the air thick with moisture. You reached for the shower door, carefully sliding it so you wouldn’t startle Steve.

…When his hand wrapped around your wrist and tugged you inside with him, a surprised little gasp escaped your lips, quickly followed by giggles as Steve pulled you close. His arms surrounded you in warmth, wrapping around your waist and pressing your chest to his. Steve’s back faced the shower head, droplets of water splashing from his broad shoulders and onto your breasts as he squeezed you closer.

The coarse hair on Steve’s chest looked even darker than usual, matted down with water and just beginning to curl. The friction it caused against your breasts felt incredible. Your nipples perked instantly, rising to meet the soaked nest of hair they were immersed in. Steve didn’t miss the way your eyes fluttered in a soft expression of bliss when he pressed his knee between your thighs, nudging your clit. Steve kept his knee locked there, his muscular thigh wedged flush against your cunt. He could feel your need, the way your pouty pussy throbbed against his skin in time with your heartbeat.

Steve’s lips met yours in a kiss that tasted of rain in the middle of Summer, fresh and warm as it melted between your lips. His tongue played tenderly with yours, gently stroking and caressing into your kiss. Your cunt wept greedily against Steve’s thigh, the evidence of your arousal dripping down his leg, mixing with the water and circling the drain.

Steve’s hands wandered up your back, his fingertips tickling your spine. The gesture made you shiver against him, your nipples perking even firmer, goosebumps dotting your skin. Steve’s lips ventured to your shoulders, kissing the goosebumps away, his fingers lacing delicately through your hair. He rocked his thigh against your cunt, pulling a desperate whimper from your throat.

“Steve,” you breathed, and he nodded in response, water dripping from the ends of his hair. “I know, baby,” he said, sliding one hand beneath your thigh. “You don’t have to say it; I already know…”

Steve lifted one of your legs and wrapped it around his waist, hoisting you up so your knee was bent over his elbow. With his free hand, he reached between your bodies and took hold of his cock. Rubbing his tip between your slick folds, Steve collected a generous amount of your cum on the head of his cock before pressing inside you, filling you whole.

The position gave Steve even deeper access to your cunt than usual; with his body bent slightly at the waist and your leg elevated to the level of his hip, Steve could fuck places inside you that more standard positions didn’t allow.

Your forehead was pressed to Steve’s chest, tears of relief burning behind your eyes as you squeezed them closed. Every upward punch of Steve’s hips hit a place so deep inside you, it felt like you were being stretched open for the first time, like losing a second virginity in part of you that hadn’t previously existed.

Steve’s eyes were glossy, his gaze fixed between your bodies, watching his cock disappear inside you. Your needy cunt swallowed Steve eagerly, sucking him like a vice. His thrusts began to grow desperate in pursuit of his climax, the heady burn of pleasure within Steve at its absolute peak.

With a groan of release, Steve erupted deep inside you, emptying against your cervix and painting your vagina in cum. Immediately after his orgasm, Steve went to his knees in front of you. He shoved his face between your thighs, hungrily probing your pussy. With his tongue buried in your cunt, Steve let you ride him to your own climax. You clutched Steve’s shoulders for support as you humped his face and bounced on his tongue till your orgasm was spilling through you in waves. Steve licked your vagina clean, sucking his cum from between your lips, peppering delicate kisses along your puffy cunt before rising to his feet, and taking you again into his arms.

A warm stream of water and cum dripped between your bodies as you held each other inside the shower. Tilting Steve’s face to yours, you teased his lips apart with your tongue. The sweet, salty flavor of your cum and Steve’s blended together as you explored each other in a deep, passionate kiss. Steve tugged your bottom lip between his, sucking lightly. When he released it, he was smiling, his pretty hazel eyes adoring you. “Let’s dry off and get back in bed,” Steve grinned mischievously. “So I can get you wet all over again…”

[evidenceof]

i have just said something ridiculous to you

Joe Toye has a nice face, George thinks. Strong nose, strong brows, and a scowl that George realized he liked to earn. Miles deep into 2nd Battalion's march to Atlanta, George Luz hears an Irish song from across their frozen campground.

happiest holidays, @blood-mocha-latte, my hbo war 2025 secret santa baby!! ♡ crossing my fingers and hoping i did their voices/headspaces justice. this present is brought to you by equal parts mary oliver's 'i have just said,' that you love, and toye's atlanta march predicament™. i very humbly give to you my very first luztoye fic.

I have just said something ridiculous to you and in response, your glorious laughter. - 'I Have Just Said' by Mary Oliver

-----------------------------------

December 1, 1942 | 2330 hours Campgrounds, 38 miles from Fort Benning

The butter tastes like nothing on his frozen tongue. George winces at the thin oily film it leaves behind in his mouth after he swallows. Too fucking cold, everything was too fucking cold. A ragged chuckle saws its way through his throat while he watches Perco fight a losing battle against his hard slice of bread. Eventually, he rips it in half, elbow colliding with the tent wall and almost costing them their flimsy shelter. A hundred and fifteen miles and they had to survive off of stale bread and pats of butter.

“The way we live you’d think we’re already at the front of the fucking lines.” Perco’s voice was muffled under a thick scarf. “I don’t know what’s worse. This or shit on a shingle.”

“Come on, we got it made.” George lights a cigarette, and flicks off his lighter in an attempt to sweep away any talk of war. “Sightseeing the backcountry, free food, free clothes. These fuckin’ boots? Babies are the best in General Patton's Third Army, so I’ve heard.” His boot lands back on the cold ground with a pathetic thump from where he lifted it. 

“Aw, shut up, Luz.” Perco shoves him backwards, hard, half a slice of bread still in his hand, but with a grin already plastered on his face.

Just barely missing the tent wall, George regains his balance. “All right, all right. Jeez,” he laughs. He presses his hand on Perco’s head to push himself up, earning him a scowl. “Gonna go find a fire before this thing collapses on us.”

The flap of the tent all but snaps in half when he throws it open. Ice crackles down the drab green canvas like peanut brittle. Outside, cold air smacks against George’s face as he takes in the columns of tents around him that stand frosted and gleaming in the moonlight. The temperature had dropped earlier in the afternoon, but tomorrow promised worse terrain because, as far as George was concerned, God had abandoned 2nd Battalion specifically. Why else would they be the only ones walking all the way to fucking Atlanta? There's thirty eight more miles and not nearly enough bad Sobel impressions in George’s back pocket to last them that far.

With a single drag, he polishes off the remainder of his cigarette. Squinting, he spots Lip and Guarnere in the middle of what looks like an attempt at walking without having to bend their knees. Their frosty puffs of breath mirror the smoke he exhales. He sees Lip’s hand raise to greet him at the same time a bad tune cuts across the field, louder than the muffled grousing from inside the pup tents. Only George whips his head towards the direction of the sound.

“Luz, what’re you up to?” Lip’s voice is firm. George doesn’t see, but he hears the smile in it.

“Better not be doin’ anything fuckin’ stupid. I’m goddamn tired of that pansy chicken-shit officer breathing down my neck all fuckin’ day,” spits Guarnere, digging his hands deeper into his pockets. “Sobel, I mean. Winters ain’t no chicken-shit at least.”

George doesn't expect the polite chuckle from Lip who's quick to follow it up with a stern, “Bill.” At that, Guarnere raises an eyebrow like a demanding child, a look that George knows he never let his ma see. “But he’s right, keep your head outta trouble, Luz. Got enough to deal with while Toye’s relegated to K.P,” continues Lip with a grimace.

George tips his head in the direction of the broken Irish song still flitting in the air. “That him?” The scowl on Guarnere’s face is confirmation enough. “What’d he do?”

“Go ask him if you’re so fuckin’ curious,” Guarnere sneers. “Hey, I’m serious Luz. Give Sobel an excuse to take away passes and I’ll shove a trench knife up your ass.”

George knuckles his forehead to mock-salute Guarnere and gives Lip a wink. “I’ll behave for you, Bill,” he sing-songs. It only takes him a second to quash his finished cigarette under his boot before his feet start moving towards the sound almost involuntarily. He finds Toye hunched over a fire, chin resting on his legs that are folded in front of him. Even tucked into himself, there was something intimidating about his angles. It’s those goddamn broad shoulders of his, wide like no one’s business. Certainly not George’s. He doesn’t recognize the words Joe is singing but the tune’s familiar enough. Once or twice, he found himself straining to hear it in the Toccoa showers. It almost feels like a shame to put an end to it. Almost.

“Thought someone was dying. Your bad singing why they’re making you do this?” chides George, nudging Toye with his boot before he takes a seat on the ground. 

Toye clenches his jaw in acknowledgment, any lingering mirth vanishing from his face. “Luz,” says Toye, already exasperated. George watches him jab the weak fire with a stick. The orange glow casts shadows on his irritated face. Nothing quite like pissing off Joe Toye. He has a nice face, George thinks. Strong nose, strong brows, a scowl that George realized he liked to earn. Even with the darkness under his eyes, Toye looks sturdy.

“Aw, c’mon Toye. Not happy to see me?” His teeth chatter and Toye’s lip twitches into the beginnings of a smile. “Lighten up will ya?”

A gust of wind makes them both adjust their scarves. From under his own, Toye shakes his head before glaring at the stick in his hand. George can see him weighing out the pros and cons of throwing it into the pit. “I did. Look where that got me,” says Toye, eventually.

“Hey, least you’re warm right?” George smiles at him while dislodging a clump of dirt from the sole of his boot to throw in Toye’s direction. When it hits the side of his leg, Toye barely flinches. So it was like that, huh? George digs his heel into the hardened ground, dragging himself closer to Joe. “So what’d you do? You can trust me. Who the fuck am I gonna tell?”

Toye continues staring at the flames like they’d done something to offend him. When he doesn’t answer, George inches forward, tracking cold moisture and mud on his trousers. For a moment he’s convinced Toye isn’t paying attention, but George sees how his eye twitches in time with the sound of his ODs scritching against the ground.

“Toye. Toye. Toye. Joe Toye. C’mon, buddy. Tell good ol’ George,” he says, slightly out of breath as he continues to drag himself closer. 

Bright dots of orange float up into the inky blue night when Toye jostles the firewood with his stick. “Not sure you wanna know, Luz,” he says gravely. “What, you need new source material or something? Running out of punchlines?”

“Me? Nah. Been practicing my Strayer,” says George, grinning. He’s not sure if he imagines the little nod from Toye. “When I get that pitch perfect, it'll last us ’til we ship out at least. You’ll fuckin’ see.” There’s caked mud on the ass of his ODs, he feels it. But now Toye was in perfect prodding distance and that made the journey worth it. With his fist, George nudges him once, twice, but he still looks like a goddamn statue staring at the fire, unmoving. “C’mon Toye. What’d you do?”

Nothing prepares him for how quickly Toye swivels his body towards his. He’s so close that George feels his breath on his cheek when Toye says, “You really wanna know? How about you ask me nice, Luz? Throw in a little favor?”

“Like what…?” says George, schooling his face into seriousness. Were Toye’s lashes always this long? George swears he feels the phantom brush of them against his goddamn forehead. He isn’t proud of the way it makes him miss a beat or causes that slight tremble in his voice. Nothing he couldn’t chalk up to the cold, he thinks. And he fucking would, if anyone asks.

“Like take over with these fires for me, you fuckin’ idiot,” growls Toye in his usual low gravelly voice. The white of his teeth catches the corner of George’s eye, then the pink of his lower lip. Damn. It feels almost too late when Toye thwacks the long stick against George’s chest and he nearly falls backwards. “My arm’s falling asleep.”

Clearing his throat to pull himself together is a decision George regrets immediately. It’s raw and cold like the rest of him. But he can deal with the shards of glass lodged into his windpipe better than the fucking knots that just erupted in his stomach. What was with that? He swipes the stick and turns to face the fire so that Joe is just a smudge in his periphery. From a few feet away, he hears Lieb and Alley laughing mercilessly. The thought of them witnessing all that makes his face burn, but he reminds himself everyone’s huddled in their own pup tents.

Toye's voice, resigned now, floats from beside George suddenly. It’s soft from fatigue. “Kid wanted to know what it felt like,” he says but doesn't continue. 

“What what felt like?” George pokes the fire. There’s a hiss and crackle of wood before Toye replies.

“What it’s like to pick up a skirt,” mumbles Toye, sounding embarrassed, forgiving maybe. “Says he gets nervous easy. He’s a buddy of mine from Dog Company, knew him from Pennsylvania, worked the coal mines together. He’s… you know? All stiff-like. Kinda like—”

“Like Winters?” George answers. “The fuck is wrong with you people from Pennsylvania. You born with a complimentary stick up your ass or what?” George wonders if that was too much, but he hears a huff from beside him—a sound that, from his limited knowledge, is the closest thing Toye gets to laughing. There’s a giddiness in his chest that tells him he’s been wanting to hear that for a while.

“Yeah. Yeah, like Lieutenant Winters,” replies Toye, less grave now. George turns to find him smiling down at the ground almost sleepily. It triggers a fresh set of knots right below George’s belly. It makes sense that the guy would ask Toye, George decides. With a face like that, eyes like that, he could bring home just about anyone he wanted. “Tells me he gets jittery, that friend of mine. Loses his fucking words. Needs practice. Needs advice,” says Toye. 

“Just need a face like yours.” It tumbles out of George’s mouth automatically. God, he wanted to shove one of the burning logs down his throat. But if Toye heard, he didn’t show it. Recovering, George continues, “What’d you tell him?”

Calm as anything, Toye lifts one shoulder in a shrug. “I didn’t. Gave him a little practical exercise and pushed the guy against a wall,” he says with an even voice. From where he’s turned, the fire illuminates only a portion of his face. Even from a partial view, George could tell he wasn’t joking. Unsurprising; Toye rarely did. “Evans saw.”

“So he served you K.P. duty for jostling a guy? Sounds about right.” George laughs, imagining Evans’ prissy frown. “Your broads usually slam you against walls?”

As an answer, Toye smiles, all teeth, and George stops laughing. 

“It was nothing serious. Wanted to see how well he could come up with one of those lines of his in that position. Said he’s been practicing,” insists Toye. A tiny smirk tugs at the corner of his lip at the sudden shift in George’s face. “I was gentle though, but I think that was the problem. I, uh… I think he liked it.”

There was something about the image George couldn’t quite put together in his mind. He frowns. I think he liked it. 

“You shoulda seen Evans’ face. Kinda looks like yours right now actually, but less red,” Toye grins and George fights the urge to hide his head under his scarf. “Ripped my friend away from me and doled out the punishment. But really, the fucking kicker was him telling me to go see the chaplain. Fucking self-righteous asshole.”

“The chaplain? Since when the fuck do you need to—” Suddenly, it clicks in his mind, and he imagines the scene Evans must have walked into that night. Toye resting a hand against the wall beside the private’s face, the incline of his broad shoulders pointing inward, caging him. Gentle . Those big eyes and lashes too fucking close: Toye looking like the very picture of ease. Only in his head, George erases the face of the nameless PFC from Dog Company and replaces it with his own. Toye’s angles leaning towards him, lips inches away from his face, the feeling of his gravelly voice trailing from the tip of George’s nose all the way down under his shirt. He chokes a bit when he says, disbelieving, “No. Fuck, Toye. Nah, that ain’t right. What the fuck were you thinking?”

“I wasn’t,” says Toye tightly and looks up to glare at him. George can’t quite meet his eyes. “I was lightening up, remember?”

This close to the fire, George’s hands still feel like ice. “You’re insane, Joe. Fucking insane,” he says, trying to shake off the thought of Toye being close, peering up at a guy through his lashes like a dame. Suddenly, George’s trousers feel tight and his head was spinning in all possible directions.

“Didn’t hurt him. Was only trying to help. I was gentle, like I said,” Toye says lightly, voice already edged with sleep and without a trace of guilt. “Want a demonstration, Luz?”

“What, so you can get caught again? You plan on being K.P. until we’re shipped out?” George hears the higher register in his voice, and feels the way his heart rams against his sternum. He can’t look at Toye so he pokes the fire instead. A hot splinter flies onto his hand and he lets it sting, steering his full attention to the tiny patch of burning flesh.

Toye’s voice is thick with the lack of sleep, but more importantly is suddenly right behind George’s ear, brushing against the tiny hairs he didn’t know existed there. “I won’t tell if you don’t. I can keep a secret,” whispers Toye. George almost moans, but catches himself. It comes out a fumbling huff instead. The tightness of his trousers stop him from moving away.

“Well,” George tries to say. His zipper brushes against his skivvies and he almost jumps. If not for the jacket, the tented crotch area of his trousers would be on full display. Christ, he hopes Toye’s sleep-deprived enough to forget all this by the end of the march. “I can’t.” 

Toye laughs, fully now. George feels it on his nape, the hahas hitting his skin like long-burning coals. God, it felt good. 

“I’ll try it on you one day, Luz,” says Toye. George isn’t sure if he imagines Toye’s palm resting on his hip. It's too much and he feels like passing out. All the blood from his brain seems pool to right down into his crotch. It was getting harder to think, let alone respond. 

“You’re funny,” manages George eventually. Toye’s breath smells like Juicy Fruit, sweet.

“Yeah? I like surprising people like that,” says Toye, like a purr. When he moves away, Toye keeps the smile fixed on his face. The missing pressure of his hand leaves a cold mark on George’s side. So that was real. The affirmation only intensifies the heat below his stomach.

“You make a habit of shoving enlisted men against walls?” breathes George. It feels too good to keep this line of conversation going, everything in his body says so. But George couldn’t trust himself or his faculties. He was still thinking of Juicy Fruit in his mouth.

“Among other things.” Toye smirks lazily at him, and tilts his head up at the sky. George tells himself it’s the fatigue and the proximity to smoke that makes every word Toye says sound flirtatious. This fucking march had everyone acting strange, especially him.

“You are insane,” he says again, voice trembling. No way in hell was this guy a fairy. Didn’t fucking look like one anyway, all broad shouldered and angular. Nothing about him swished: not his fucking voice, or his fucking hips. Shit just don’t add up like that. But neither did the tightness in his OD trousers that didn't feel like it would disappear fast enough.

“A compliment coming from you, George.” Toye buries his face in his palms. “Fuck, I’m tired,” he says, the words drawn out of him like an exhale.

George watches his body sway slightly, tipping almost imperceptibly in and out of consciousness. “You sleep at all Joe?” Toye yawns as an answer; it shudders through him. He was just tired and spread thin, George thinks, they all were. And that got you acting different, that got you acting abnormal.

“No. But Evans still has it out for me. He’s lurking somewhere,” Toye says, not looking up from where George thinks he’s already fallen half asleep. The sharp angles of Toye’s shoulders droop, sagging under the weight of a second day without sleep. George lights another cigarette, finally, to keep his hands from doing something really fucking stupid like throwing a blanket over Toye and shoving his head onto his lap. Shit that guy from Dog Company can’t do, he thinks, feeling an odd barb of possessiveness while looking at Toye’s drooping head.

“Hey, I got this, all right?” argues George, gesturing at the growing fire.

“Shut up, Luz. I’m not looking for handouts.” But Toye’s voice dips in volume, belying the stubbornness in it.

“C’mon, Joe. You can’t be the only one handing out favors from the goodness of your heart,” George offers something like understanding. From his palms, Toye glances up at him, questioning. He’d look almost offended if he didn’t look so soft.

“Twenty minutes. Sleep. We got thirty-eight miles left in the morning and you look like shit,” continues George. Toye’s gaze doesn’t move away from him. So he stares back, feeling a little selfish, tracing Toye’s dark lashes and pink lips with his eyes. He wonders if they’ll ever get to sit this close again. “I’m saying if Evans comes around, I’ll charm him for ya.”

“Yeah?” says Toye, still looking at George, a small smile hooked on his lips. The sounds of the camp feel like they’ve all but disappeared. “Yeah. You’re good at that.”

His cigarette burns down to the filter but George continues to suck on it, unable to fish it out with his shaking hands that he’s hidden in his jacket pockets. They’re warm now, so it couldn’t have been the cold causing the trembling. He can still feel Toye’s laugh ricocheting on his neck.

Toye breaks their little staring contest and faces the fire. “Fine, twenty minutes.” 

“Sure buddy.” George watches Toye’s chin droop down onto his chest and his eyes flutter shut, lashes twitching. He’s asleep immediately. When he’s sure Toye was out cold, George fishes out a blanket from his pack and drapes the whole thing across Toye’s shoulders with a gentleness he didn’t know he had. “Take as long as you like.”

[chasing-clovers]

so what you’re saying is they’re compatible? they both value their privacy immensely and aren’t into sports docs in any capacity?? okay

[djotime]

JOE KEERY via Vagabonde Adventures

[thoughts-nshit]

Lone Bunny

Summary: Reader bumps into a man on the street, he was a stranger to her, but she was not a stranger to him.

TW: Stalker!Konig, Oblivious!Reader, eventual smut, murder of a character, NSFW!!, MDNI, Very slowburn, reader is seen as chubby and a virgin, manipulation, loneliness,

Notes: 730 words, i am a first time writer so this could be shit, if this is recieved well ill work on making a prologue or stuff like that, lots of love xxxxx

Prologue

Part One: Scoped

Alone.

That’s all you were. All that you convinced yourself you were. It didn’t help that whenever you brought up your loneliness to family or friends, the response was always ‘Well you need to learn to love yourself until you can love someone else’. How infuriating, how could you love yourself unless someone set an example and showed you how?

You were so touch-starved that the thought of anyone touching you, showing affection, or pleasuring you made you sick to your stomach. You were repulsed by touch, and you'd shy away from a hug, a handshake, or a platonic cheek kiss. You would do anything to get out of situations like that, like an animal gnawing its leg out of a trap.

That’s why you were in the middle of uni, not in a house share, but a single flat, with barely any friends, and repulsed by the thought of touch, ‘just too complicated to love’ you told yourself as you hurried out your flat to your lecture, another failed human interaction with a tinder date, you wore comfy clothes, it wasn’t like anyone was going to look at you. Why would they?

You sipped your coffee as you darted in between the crowds of people, how you hated city life. The noise, the towering buildings, the rudeness, the publicity. All of it was too much for your soft little head. Until your soft little head collided with a very hard chest.

“Pass auf, wo du hin gehst, Hase,”

“Oh my god, I am so sorry, my head is just in the clouds…with class and all.” You rambled for about a minute trying to apologise but you kept running down a rabbit hole. Until he grabbed your shoulder gently. Now this man was massive, his hand was as big as your head, and he towered way over you, and for being 5ft9 that happened on a rare occasion. You blushed a bit at the contact, not receding.

“It doesn’t matter Hase, just watch where you're going, don’t want you getting trampled.” This deep voice behind a hood chuckles a bit as he soothes you before taking his hand off your shoulder and walking off, gone as quickly as he arrived.

You were flustered, your cheeks burning up, but you lied and told yourself it was the cold. It was odd you didn’t flinch when he touched you. You should I mean this was a 6ft10 man who felt like pure muscle when your head collided with his chest. No one had ever made you this flustered, especially not a man you just met, heat pooled between your legs. Surely you weren’t that needy that the first time a stranger gently touched your shoulder, you were soaked, I mean you didn’t even get a glimpse of his face, so you blamed it on your subtle voice kink.

You hurried to your lecture but couldn’t focus once you sat, your hand between your thighs, thick thighs squished together, trying to get any friction without being too obvious, you mentally scolded yourself. Sure, you masturbated, but never really finished, finding it too overstimulating to finish yourself off, your mind scrambling too much for you to continue circling your nub.

After what felt like torture the lecture finished, you managed to push the stranger to the back of your mind. But you were still very wet. You went home for lunch, and all social interaction, or lack of it, drained you, you collapsed on the couch as soon as you got home.

Awoken by your cat licking your hand for food, you got up and fed it until you went down to the lobby to collect post, you walked down the stairs and fumbled with your keys to find the one that opened your post-box, you stopped in your tracks when you saw a single lavender flower sticking out.

Your favourite flower, maybe it was a coincidence, you were subscribed to a lot of grandmaish magazines for hobbies, maybe it was like a gift, but you didn’t want to risk anything, you saw traffickers did stuff like this. You grabbed it with your sleeve and put it in a nearby bin before cautiously opening your postbox, shutting it, and rushing upstairs, locking your door behind you, hoping you were out of view, safe, but little bunny, you were right insight of a scope.

[onedreamonelife]

he’s so cool

[dragonpng]

joe tazuna but he's a puppy doggy

[cementcornfield]

Another angle of Joe of Ja'Marr laughing 🥹

[kind-of-a-writer]

i physically can’t do this anymore joe you’re killing me

[third-king-of-salmonids]

SOMEONE PLEASE GET JOE JR GET OUT OF GREAT GRANDADS DENTURES THEY HAVENT BEEN CLEANED FOR A FEW MILLION YEARS

LITTLE FUCKER

[thegreatimpersonator]

it's sooooo crazy to see the blogs that vague posted about me and criticized me for having negative opinions about taylor/travis/her friends, be the reason i got relentless hate for months, to then come to the exact same conclusions i did a year after me and post about it... i'm so ahead of the curve and sorry i saw the red flags before you did