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punkshort · 8 months ago

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Hard to Handle

Pairing: Joel Miller x f!reader one-shot

Summary: One year after Joel cheats on you and gets someone else pregnant, you run into him for the first time.

Warnings: pre-outbreak au, angst, language, infidelity, female rage, alcohol consumption, open/ hopeful ending but reader and Joel do not end up together

WC: 2.5K

Written for @tightjeansjavi's June writing challenge

"Guess who Neil saw at the pediatrician?"

You cracked open one eye and bringing your hand up to shield you from the sun, squinted over at your best friend, Kate. "Who?"

She grinned and sat up in her lounge chair. "Joel."

You made a face and closed your eyes again. "Don't care."

"He was all alone, Nate said. Looked like he was struggling to keep the baby quiet in the waiting room and he also said he looked tired as shit."

"Good."

"C'mon, aren't you the least bit curious?"

You made an exasperated noise and sat up in your chair to face her. "What's the point? He made his bed, he can lie in it."

Kate sighed and pulled out her phone. "Well, I was curious so I looked him up on Facebook and guess what?"

"I don't-"

"The bitch left him!" she exclaimed, showing you Joel's Facebook profile where it clearly stated his relationship status was single and the profile picture was an old one from high school. You snorted and shook your head.

"It's been almost a year, what do you want me to say?"

"I want you to feel happy that he's fucking miserable, that's what," Kate said, picking up the baby monitor at her feet and zooming in on the screen, checking to make sure her six month old was still asleep.

"Okay, fine. I'm happy he's fucking miserable," you replied before taking sip of your lemonade. "It's not fair to the baby, though."

"Oh, of course not," Kate said immediately, "but after what he did to you, you can't deny that this is karma kicking his ass."

You shrugged and looked down at your hands, picking at something imaginary underneath your nail. It had been almost a year since you left Joel. A full year when you found out, after being together since junior year in high school, that Joel had cheated on you and gotten someone else pregnant.

Well, found out probably isn't the right term. He flat out confessed one morning.

You had woken up and reached out for him, your hand running up and down his bare chest. You inched forward and buried your nose against his side, breathing in deep his natural, masculine scent before slowly dragging your hand underneath the covers to the waistband of his boxers. You didn't even realize he was awake yet until his hand suddenly shot out and stopped you.

"What's wrong?" you asked, sleep still permeating your voice.

"Nothin'."

You opened your eyes and looked up at him. He was wide awake and staring at the ceiling.

"Joel?"

He slowly turned his head to look at you and at the same time, one single tear slid from the corner of his eye. You scrambled up into a sitting position, panic singing in your veins.

"What's wrong?" you asked again, harsher this time. He swallowed and slowly sat up.

"I gotta tell you somethin'."

Your pulse began to race as all the possibilities ran through your mind, but what he said next was never what you had expected to hear.

"I slept with someone else and... she's pregnant."

You remembered in that moment it had felt like time stood still. The birds stopped chirping, the lawn mowers stopping running, the laughter outside your window ceased because the world as you knew it just ended.

After that, your memory was a little hazy.

You were sure you said some terrible things as you packed up all your belongings in a rage. The terms motherfucking piece of shit and fucking loser were tossed around more than once. You do remember preemptively accusing him of giving you an STD because he chased around whores and as you were walking out the door, you told him he would be a terrible father because he was still acting like a child himself.

Joel didn't say a single thing back. He stood there the entire time and took it, each word landing like a blow across the jaw. You weren't sure what pissed you off more: the fact that he didn't say anything or that he didn't even try to make you stay.

After you had a few weeks to reflect on it, you came to the conclusion that he must have been looking for a reason to break up and he was too chickenshit to do it himself, so he found a way to make you do it.

You blocked him on everything you could think of and pushed him from your mind. His name was banned in every conversation you had with your friends and family and as time went on, you managed to heal. You found a cute little apartment in downtown Austin and began hanging out more with your friends. You even went on a few dates with a couple different guys but nothing ever managed to stick, and you were fine with that. You actually preferred it. Being single was something you weren't familiar with and now, in your mid twenties, you were actually having a really fun time getting to know yourself again.

After so much time had passed, you really thought you were over it. Even after Kate shared that news with you, you still barely had a reaction. You were proud of yourself and feeling good. Joel was the furthest thing from your mind when you met some friends out for drinks that Friday night after work. The bar was crowded, but that wasn't unusual. It was one of the most popular spots downtown and your friend, Shannon, got there before the rest of you and managed to grab a small table.

"Are you still seeing that guy? The one with the cats?" Mel asked Shannon, and she shook her head.

"Ghosted me," she replied, making a sour face. You both pouted in return and you rubbed her back.

"Fuck him. There's plenty of other guys out there. Hell, there's plenty of guys right fucking here," you giggled and gestured behind her towards the packed bar. You noticed one guy in particular with sandy blonde hair and blue eyes glancing her way every few minutes and you nudged her foot under the table and jutted your chin in his direction. "Exhibit A."

She looked over her shoulder and smiled shyly before looking back at the two of you.

"I don't know..." she said hesitantly, then bit her lip and looked at him again. This time, the guy winked at her and she blushed.

"Come on, he's cute. Go dance with him," Mel urged, then Shannon grinned and snatched her purse.

"What the hell, can't hurt."

You both giggled as you watched her weave her way through the crowd towards her mystery man. Mel tossed back the rest of her drink with a wince before speaking again.

"Your turn."

You shook your head.

"Nah, I just wanna have a few drinks and go home, I'm not looking for another headache other than the one this vodka's gonna give me in the morning."

Mel opened her mouth to reply but then her eyes flicked to something over your shoulder. "Incoming," was all she said. You rolled your eyes and braced yourself for a shitty one-liner, but you turned out to be very wrong.

"Evenin', ladies," came a very familiar drawl from behind you. Your shoulders immediately stiffened and you slowly looked up. Sure enough, there he was. Joel.

It was Tommy who had greeted you. Joel still had yet to say anything as you glared at him. You met Mel after your breakup with Joel, and while you had told her about it, she never saw what he looked like so she was completely oblivious to what was happening. She had introduced herself to Tommy and was giggling at something he said while you were mentally planning your escape route.

"Lemme buy you a drink," Tommy offered, reaching out a hand. Mel eagerly took it and glanced back at you, frowning a little when she noticed your icy demeanor.

You ok? she mouthed, and you just nodded. She grinned and followed Tommy to the bar, leaving just the two of you.

"Mind if I sit?" he asked. You shrugged and grabbed your purse.

"It's all yours, I was just heading out."

"C'mon, don't be like that," he said. You swiveled around angrily and he held out a refill of your favorite mixed drink as a shitty peace offering. Kate was right. He had bags under his eyes and he looked run down.

"You hand me that drink and I'm dumping it over your fucking head," you snarled. He sighed and set it down on the table.

"I tried callin' but it never goes through."

"Because I blocked you, asshole."

"Yeah, I figured that out," he replied, sounding annoyed now. "Can you please just sit down?" he pleaded, pulling your chair out, but you shook your head and took a step back.

"No, Joel. I don't have anything else to say to you," you told him, then before you caused a scene you turned on your heel and began to push your way to the door, ignoring him calling your name over the music.

When you got outside, you took a deep breath, the cool night air mixing with cigarette smoke from a few bar patrons nearby. You didn't live too far away, so you decided to walk home and text your friends on the way so they knew you were safe. It was about two blocks away from the bar when Joel caught up with you and the idea of him finding out where you lived made you irrationally angry.

His fingers reached out and brushed against your elbow, trying to get you to slow down. You yanked your arm away and skid to a stop. "Don't fucking touch me, Joel."

"I'm sorry, please," he tried, but you shook your head.

"Sorry for what? For ruining my night out with my friends or throwing away seven years together and knocking up some slut?" Your nostrils flared as you glared at him angrily and a few people walking by turned in your direction then murmured amongst themselves when they were out of earshot. Joel glanced around nervously and raked his fingers through his hair.

"Can we please talk? I-I wanna apologize, I wanna make things right-"

"It's too late, Joel," you huffed and crossed your arms.

"Goddamnit, why you always gotta be so fuckin' stubborn?" he groaned, "this is why it wasn't workin', by the way. This is exactly fuckin' why."

"So your answer was to cheat on me? Real fucking classy," you snapped.

"I was fuckin' drunk!" he almost yelled, making you jump. "'Sides, from the sound of it you're havin' the time of your life bein' single. Makin' up for all those years you were stuck with me?"

"Fuck you!" you seethed, pointing your finger in his face. "You fucking asshole! Who the hell do you think you are? And why are you keeping tabs on me, anyway? What I do isn't your goddamn business anymore, so leave me alone!"

He buried his face in his palms and rubbed his eyes aggressively before taking a deep breath and trying again.

"I know, I know. And I'm sorry."

"What are you even doing out at a bar this late, anyway? Shouldn't you be home with your kid?" you said, leaving out the part about him being a single dad now, refusing to give him the satisfaction that you already knew.

"My mom's watchin' Sarah, wanted to give me a break," he mumbled. For some reason, hearing his baby's name made you freeze. Sarah, Sarah, Sarah. "It's just us now," he continued, and you swallowed tightly, finally letting him speak. "She left us a few weeks after Sarah was born. Said she couldn't handle it. I told her it sounded like that post-partum... whatever it's called," he continued, taking a step back so he could rest his tired body against the building behind him. "But she just got more and more distant and one mornin' I woke up to Sarah screamin' her head off in the crib and a note on her dresser."

You clenched your jaw, biting back the instinct to express your sympathy. Even through all your rage you couldn't help but feel a little bad for him. You could see it in his eyes. They weren't bright and playful like they used to be. The past year aged him.

"I made a mistake but I ain't gonna abandon my kid. Don't get how anyone could," he said softly, "she's just so small 'n helpless 'n I'm all she's got."

You took a deep breath and averted your gaze, staring up the street at nothing in particular. Even if you felt bad for him, that didn't change what he did to you: a betrayal worse than anything you had ever experienced. When you opened your mouth to tell him that, he spoke first.

"I still love you."

Your shoulders sagged and you closed your eyes.

"How stupid do you think I am?" you asked quietly. His tired eyes roamed over your face helplessly. "Your baby mama left you and now you're feeling overwhelmed so you thought you'd try crawling back?"

"That's not what this is," he insisted. "I didn't know I'd see you here tonight but now that I have, I couldn't let you leave without tellin' you I've thought about you every single fuckin' day since you left. Even the day Sarah was born, I was starin' down at her wishin' you were her mama instead." His eyes began to glisten, filling with unshed tears as he poured his heart out to you on the sidewalk. "I fucked up, baby. But if-"

"Don't call me that."

He ignored you and kept talking. "But if you gimme one more chance I promise I'll make it up to you." He gazed at you, blinking back his tears while trying to read your expression. "We got so much history together, there's gotta be something left. Somethin' worth fightin' for."

You tilted your head to the side and shook your head sadly.

"Sorry, Joel," you replied, watching as his face fell. "You made your choices, now you gotta live with them."

You turned and began to walk in the direction of your apartment, proud that you stood your ground but still feeling a pit in your stomach as you left. He wasn't wrong. You had a lot of history together and the hardest thing you ever had to do was walk away from him, but you knew in the end, you had to put yourself first.

Before he was out of earshot, you turned back around, spotting him standing in the same spot against the building staring down at his feet.

"Hey," you called out, and he quicky looked up.

"Good luck. To both you and Sarah. I mean it," you said sincerely. "You're doing the right thing, Joel."

He slowly nodded and you turned back around. Pulling out your phone, you saw a missed text from Mel asking where you were.

I'm gonna be okay, but I'm going home.

#tightjeansjavijunewritingchallenge #lovers to enemies #joel miller #joel miller fanfic #joel miller one shot #joel miller fic #joel miller tlou #joel miller x reader #joel miller x you #the last of us game #joel the last of us #the last of us au #the last of us fanfiction #the last of us angst #joel miller angst

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wendichester · 3 days ago

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༘˚⋆ 𖦹.✧˚ after school walks,

summary. dean walks you home every single day.

pairing. teenage!dean winchester x reader

wordcount. 536

notes. am i the only obsessed with teenage dean or...?

The afternoon sun dips low on the horizon, casting long shadows across the cracked sidewalks. You’re clutching your backpack straps, your steps matching Dean Winchester’s as he walks beside you, his hands shoved into the pockets of his worn leather jacket.

It’s the same jacket he wears every day, the one that smells faintly of motor oil and cologne, though you’ve never mentioned it. You’d never give him the satisfaction of knowing how much you notice.

“Benson's a pain in the ass,” Dean mutters, kicking a pebble down the street.

“You’re just mad she caught you sleeping in class again,” you tease, glancing at him from the corner of your eye.

He smirks, his dimples flashing. “What can I say? She has a gift. Boring me to sleep one history class at a time,”

You roll your eyes, but the warmth in your chest betrays you. It’s not fair how effortlessly charming Dean can be. You tell yourself you’re just friends, that you don’t notice the way his smile makes your knees feel a little weak.

“So, what’d she lecture you about this time?” you ask, mostly to fill the silence.

He shrugs. “Something about ‘wasting potential.’”

“You? Wasting potential?” you tease, feigning shock. “I can’t imagine why she’d think that.”

Dean chuckles, a low sound that sends a shiver down your spine. “Funny.”

The two of you turn down your street, the quiet neighborhood settling into its evening routine. Porch lights flicker on, and the smell of dinner drifts through open windows. Dean walks a little closer, his shoulder brushing yours.

“You know,” he says after a moment, his tone slightly teasing, “It's really tiring having to walk you home everyday.”

You glance at him, immediately noticing his cheeky grin. “You don’t have to, but you do it anyway.”

Dean’s eyes flick to yours, a glimmer of something unreadable in his gaze. “Yeah, well... it’s not like I trust anyone else to make sure you get home safe.”

You swallow hard, your heart beating a little faster. “I can take care of myself, you know.”

“Never said you couldn’t,” he replies, his smirk returning. “But it doesn’t hurt to have backup.”

You reach your house all too soon, the familiar sight of the chipped paint and sagging porch steps pulling you back to reality.

“This is me,” you say, gesturing to the front door.

Dean stops at the bottom of the steps, his hands still buried in his pockets. He glances up at the house, then back at you, as if debating something.

“Well,” he says after a pause, “guess I’ll see you tomorrow.”

You hesitate, gripping the straps of your backpack a little tighter. “Dean?”

“Yeah?”

You shift on your feet, suddenly nervous. “Thanks. For walking me home.”

His smirk softens into a genuine smile, one that makes your chest ache in the best way. “Anytime, sweetheart.”

With that, he turns and starts back down the sidewalk, his strides confident and unhurried. You watch him go, your cheeks warm and your heart fluttering in a way that’s becoming all too familiar.

And as you step inside, you can't wait for tomorrow morning, where Dean will be waiting so you can walk to school together.

want be part of the taglist.ᐣ ⋆.˚ ★— @iloveeveryoneyoureamazing ⋆ @deans-daydream ⋆ @ariasong11 ⋆ @ambiguous-avery ⋆ @krabog ⋆ @itsdearapril ⋆ @nymphet-quenn ⋆ @bluemerakis ⋆ @titsout4jackles ⋆ @lyarr24 ⋆ @hauntedrose555 ⋆ @chevroletdean ⋆ @dulcescorderitas ⋆ @blackmarketfruitrollups ⋆ @impala67rollingthroughtown ⋆ @rulesareshadesofgrey ⋆ @nervoussystemss ⋆ @daryls-luvrr ⋆ @defnot-svnshine

#dean winchester #dean winchester x reader #dean winchester x you #dean winchester fluff #teenage dean winchester #dean winchester fic #supernatural #.docx

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comfortless · 1 year ago

Note

The way you write König makes me cry and dry heave cuz you balance his loser unhingeness and his heartbreaking tenderness is✨ ART✨

Now I feel like you would be able to EAT this prompt up but imagine König as Frankenstein’s creature that is this big ass hulking mass of body that immediately makes the town grab their pitchforks but he can DESTROY them in seconds. But inside he is just a little guy who just wants somebody to hold and love (and other activities if ya know what I mean

Keep doing what you do❤️

A Place For Us

Frankenstein’s creature! König x fem! horologist reader

content/warnings: 18+. minors do not interact. discrepancies!, reader is implied to have anxiety, angst & fluff, non-malicious stalking?, loner/loner dynamic my beloved.., brief mentions of previous murders and religious imagery, codependency, smut; masturbation, unprotected piv.

notes: receiving this ask was so funny to me because @melancholic-thing and i have been bouncing this idea around forever (i simply could not have brought this any justice without ghost’s input— if you see this please know that ily dearly). thank you, anon for your kind words and finally giving me the push that i needed to write it! 💘

wc: 10.6k

You’re good at fixing broken things; tinkering with them with a set of well-polished tools until they begin to tick, or chime, or cuckoo.

Some take longer than an afternoon sat before the wooden desk, weeks or months— a year, once. Oiled parts and small cogs, the three arms that jerk and glide over a face riddled with numbers that all lull you into feeling that your work is not just some monotonous service only the rich buzzards could afford, but as if you were a healer of sorts; a little cleric stationed to bring life into whichever jagged, broken thing has been dropped or kicked at her doorstep.

This one, however… you’re convinced it’s as good as dead.

No matter how many times you take apart the little, gray pocket watch, the arms refuse to move. Its ticking sounds less like that of the beating of the heart and more like the grinding of dry teeth, a corpse begging, pleading to let this attempted resurrection come to an end.

Your tweezers wrench the face free, and all at once it proves too much— bending and warping beneath the metal grip until it cracks, a split right through it, down to its very center.

“How…” Your voice fills the void of ticking, pseudo-silence surrounding you. A word slipped out in frustration and unknowing before you finally toss the wretched little thing onto the desk with a clatter and step aside.

The house is as dark and brooding as always, too large for a woman on her own and a workshop that hardly counts as a proper business. Shelves of broken clocks serve as decor where potted plants and well-loved photographs should sit in their stead. Books of study for modern devices such as these in place of the poetry and worn love letters other women seemed to have in abundance.

This place was starved out of light, even with the flickering glow of candles and the electric humming of the unnatural yellow one above.

The sun is no stranger, either, your curtains neatly pulled aside to allow for it to filter through like an invited guest. Only it doesn’t, not on such a melancholic gray day.

You need a walk, a distraction, or this hungry home would be certain to rip away your work from the shelves and swallow you whole instead.

Isn’t it such a tragedy that, someone who pours her creativity and all of her love into time, all she seems to do is waste it?, the gaudy wallpaper seems to taunt, all the colors of filthy maroon and darkened blue flowers seeming to make it feel more imposing and less of a comfort.

Your hand curls around the handle of your umbrella, a sturdy thing, but just as drab as the rest of the home. Then, the package you’ve been putting off delivering to the elderly woman in town. Best to get it done with now, maybe upon your return the hands that fix could do so once again.

Shame about the clock face though. You would certainly have to patch together another and pray the pocket watch’s owner wouldn’t notice.

The wind is not what you had anticipated.

Outside is different. The howling of it past the windows and shuddering through the attic felt perfectly at home in your shoddy little house, but as the door swings shut behind you, it feels entirely alive. Cold and bitter and angry— the things you keep repressed that nature lacks the tact to.

The trees bend and sway from its invisible yet incessant pushing. The hand containing the package falls down to the lap of your skirt to keep it from flying up just as your other clutches the umbrella ever tighter to keep it from billowing out into the air to be left discarded miles away.

It isn’t a short walk to town, but with the wind and the drizzling rain, it almost seems as though you’re in more tender company than the lumber and the ticking clocks.

The path through the forest is overgrown as always, branches are pushed aside and your skirt is lifted to avoid burrs and thorns.

You should have had the sense to bring along a coat, because when the thunder does strike up and the rain finally begins to fall in heavy, hurried drops, you find yourself shivering terribly with the package guarded against your chest.

Lamplight would have done well, too.

You would have almost happily allowed yourself to toss aside the umbrella and be battered by the rain if you could only see. The forest is dark on days like this, with the canopy of thick branches and their dense leaves blocking out any sliver of light cast down from overhead.

It’s only by sheer luck that you don’t manage to trip, toss your delivery into the shadow of a tree and lose it entirely before you do make it out. When the trees finally part to the barren hill overlooking town you breathe a sigh of relief, a quiet thanks for the grayed light above.

Your steps are hurried as you make your way through the quiet town. The shop windows are all lit aglow with the silhouettes of people inside, strangely dancing like shadows through a fog. A place you can not be, can not touch.

The stares the townsfolk give you make your skin crawl, as though they are so close to being what you are but not, only tied down to your world when they think themselves lofty. Their eyes always seem to question, scrape under your skin with sharpened arms, ticking and flaying, always asking: Why?

You face forward as your skin begins to prickle, not from the wet or the chill but a subdued sort of fear that nestles burning into your chest, sets your heart rushing like a rabbit.

The streets are silent enough, a small blessing; any passing strangers are hurriedly skittering through the rain and muck to hide away in their homes, children ushered with a hand to their back by flustered looking mothers, complaining in hushed voices about the rain. You only smile at them and step aside when your paths cross.

They never smile for you.

It’s why the broken clocks are delivered to your doorstep rather than brought inside, addresses and names from muffled voices calling out beyond your thick wooden door, coins and bills pushed through the mail slot to lie cold on the welcome mat. The bell above the door never chimes, and you only make your deliveries on days like this, when the rain or the dark blanket you up to keep you safe and eternally somber.

You leave the package on the doorstep, covered from the rain by a small, vermillion awning. One sharp knock is given and you’re back on your way, back to the old house, to the simplicity of the ticking, the comfort of the old cobweb on the vaulted ceiling and the drab gray of the bleakness.

There are puddles now, glistening with any light they can suck into their depths, threatening and taunting as the dull stares and that rickety old desk you really should fix. You think for a moment, that perhaps no one would even notice if one of those dark pits of rain water pulled you in entirely, only to splash through it with ease, dirtying the ends of your skirt.

The rain lessens when you crest the hill, the forest less a tangle of clattering limbs and now only a gentle sway reaches the tops of the trees, light filtering through them, as if to guide you on your way. It doesn’t lessen the bushels of thorns, the tree limbs downed and scattered over the path. In some small blessing, you’re able to scramble over them without having to plan a visit to a tailor to repair a ripped gown; scrubbing the mud from it would surely be tedious enough.

The droplets splatter against the dirt and fallen leaves in hushed bursts, the forest alive as always with the cooing of nesting birds in spite of the rain. The only thing that seems out of place is a sudden, soft thud, the snap of a branch underfoot. Just one footfall, and things return to a placid state amidst the sky’s tears.

You raise your head to glimpse in the direction, gaze sweeping over the figure of a man some paces off to your left. Beneath the shadow of a broad, twisting pine layered in thick branches, his details are mostly obscured, a thin trail of silver light only casting aglow the glimpse of a blue eye.

He’s only large enough to notice, shoulders slumped and chest rapidly rising to fall like a frightened animal; as his silhouette shifts just so you even consider that he’s shivering.

There’s something in that stare of somber blue that splinters at the wall of discomfort; it is not accusing, not bitter, worn and cold. Curious. Something akin to your own.

Damn your sweetness, your inability to simply let things be even as that ache twists around in your chest, clawing at a cage of bone and hissing that you keep silent. Be on your way. Don’t look back.

Instead, you extend your umbrella outward, toward him.

“Awful rain, hm?,” you chime.

The figure visibly tenses, seems to shrink into himself for a moment before straightening and giving one solemn nod.

“You can take my umbrella. I’m almost home, anyway.”

That seems to spark something, not much, but the stranger does take a step forward. Your eyes catch on the wet, matted hair clinging to his head, cascading down to shroud a face you still can’t quite make out.

The poor thing stirs something in you, a deep sympathy that clouds even the judgment of that flighty, skittish thing resting deep inside.

Even from such a distance it’s clear that he’s been neglected, likely cast off by the town even less favorably than you have. His scent carries on the breeze, like dirt and wood and misery.

You extend the umbrella again before realizing he won’t come any closer with you being there. So, you lower it to the ground, avoiding the mud as best you could and leave it. If he took it, fine. If not, you travel this path so often it would be collected in time.

The figure mutters something as you rise, a low string of foreign words that you can only interpret as being spoken out of surprise, perhaps even gratitude.

You smile toward him as you wipe fat, slithering raindrops from your brow.

“You don’t want to catch a fever.”

With that, you’re back on your way, thoughts of the rugged stranger weigh heavy on your mind as the roof of your home comes into view, stilted and in the same drab navy as the flowers on the wallpaper.

You could have done more. It had been instilled into you to not to open the door for someone you did not quite know, yet a part of you longed to take care of something not simply fed by oil, something only capable of telling you how much time you’ve sat alone as thanks.

Surely it was best not to let it distract you.

This was good enough.

The key is produced, the door opened, and just like the many times before that you have forced yourself from this place, the house seems less unsettling upon your return.

As what little daylight remains fades away into night, you find yourself seated, toying with the old pocket watch once more. It’s the only one that doesn’t make a lick of sense, a puzzle that can not be solved. For all the polished parts and meticulous tinkering, it still won’t work properly.

It grates and growls as though rusted, the cogs shifting inside with each movement of the arms are well-polished yet seem to do little but hiss and spit.

This is the fourth time you have taken it apart only to put it back together with no improvement.

There was little to be known about the man who owned it, some pompous, arrogant creature that you had only seen in passing. He had turned his nose up to you, you were sure of that, only to deliver this dying thing to your door the following day.

Your work had always been compared to your father’s. Though you possessed a similarity in skill, you were not what the townsfolk had deemed to be respectable. An unwed lady out on her own, biding her time repairing what they had broken rather than feeding hungry mouths delivered from her very womb, how terribly scandalous.

The pocket watch is set aside as you busy yourself tailoring a small sheet of metal for it. The graduations are carved in with a sharp razor, impeccably angled. Then, the Roman numerals, just before it’s slotted back into place.

The likeness to the former face is nearly uncanny, it’s only sturdier and less susceptible to ripping from the mere touch of tweezers. The rust s gone from the casing, and at long last— it ticks; no grinding growl as the second hand begins its revolution. The fickle thing just needed a touch up, you supposed as you flick off the desk lamp and rise to your feet.

The curtains are drawn as they always were when you step into the bedroom. The muddy dress is finally peeled away as you change and slink into the covers, and just for a moment, you almost think that you feel the animal between your breasts begin to settle too.

———

There’s a letter stuffed into the mail slot: crumpled with no postage stamp, scrawled across some scrap of paper that surely was plucked from a garbage bin.

You marvel at the lack of care for a moment before your fingers do find themselves pawing at it, unfurling the worn edges to find the words: Thank you.

Written in thick black ink, there’s a clumsiness to it, the dance of a quivering hand holding pen. You think back to the elderly woman you had made that delivery to only yesterday; had she trudged through the mud and muck just to bring you this?

Her thanks was only needed in the blessing of payment, and she had already generously done just that when she left her little humming wall clock at the door.

You flip the note over, inspecting it carefully. There’s a line there, too, hastily scratched out in the same black ink, the lines crossing and digging leaving little pinprick holes in the paper.

Holding it to the light, you can just barely make out the words: I have been alone.

Your mouth dries at the sentiment, tongue flicking out to try and force a wetness to your lips. The animal begins its keening howl, a chain rattling as claws sink into your innards; the very same agitated fear that starved you out of comfort day in and out.

The man in the forest, perhaps. You were sure that you would have remembered seeing someone so disheveled and tall about town, and if not for a certainty that he had not followed you home, you would have assumed it was him. Gratitude finally said, and well on his way to someplace else.

There’s nothing here for him or anyone else, surely he could see that. Even you could.

The walls around you seem to bulge, the room shrinking once again as every little thing held within begins to taunt and yowl. Safety was only a temporary luxury, it always has been.

The letter is discarded onto a table, as you opt to hazard a peek out of your curtains instead. The gray from yesterday remains as thick clouds crowd above, threatening another storm. The treetops and tall grass dance in the breeze, freeing leaves and breaking flower stems. There’s no one standing there to greet you, to explain themselves for the strange message that they had left.

The town had probably already driven you to madness, picturing things that were not there while old fools jab you with ominous letters and jeering stares to see just how long it would take to watch you fall apart.

Another delivery day it would be, then; best to get it out of the way before the rain begins to fall.

Maybe you could even retrieve the umbrella along the path, discarded, battered from the rain and likely unused.

You don’t bother packaging the pocket watch, choosing to hastily stuff it into the pocket of your coat instead. Courtesies be damned. Tea and a warm bath would do well when the house was sated by your absence, when you were finally given time to breathe.

In your haste, you nearly kick over what’s been left on the uppermost stair leading to your door.

You find a table clock covered in a thick black fabric, a little note attached to it giving the owner’s name and address, and a small bag containing payment.

It’s all securely placed inside, next to the ugly letter on the table.

Your umbrella doesn’t wait on the path, but you’ve hardly the mind to care. Your hand tightens around the pocket watch as you cord your way down the path and back into town, rushing amidst the foliage until the sounds of your footfalls are dulled by the street.

Reaching the house, a towering narrow building that smells like tobacco even from outside, your hand curls to knock at the door in the same breath taken as the chain is plucked to place it on the knob, intent on scurrying away immediately to avoid the disgusted gaze of the man that waits inside.

You don’t quite make it far enough before the door swings open and you’re greeted by a round face, nose upturned and lip curled into a sneer.

That isn’t imagination.

There’s a genuine hate in this man, seeping down into his bones that makes him almost seem to reek like sulfur through the cloud of cigarette smoke that wafts around him. It’s the face of someone who would love nothing more than to see your own damnation, watch the earth suck you in until your wails fall silent and a fire roars upward in your wake.

“This isn’t my watch, dear.”

“Parts needed to be replaced,” you explain, voice tight and keening like a wolf in a trap, “I assure you that I—“

“It’s shoddy work. Any clocksmith up north would have done better for half the price..”

It goes on like this for what feels like at minimum thirty revolutions, but it must have only been five or so. His droning voice makes it hard to keep track, buzzing as he examines your work, hours wasted upon aiding such an awful creature.

He only seems to grow bored of his chiding when you fall to silence. He wants a reaction, not a wide-eyed fretful stare and pursed lips caging in any sound that may bubble up from your throat.

In one final act of detestation, the watch is tossed to the ground, stomped in repetition until the hands snap, the ticking quiets, and you see months of your work brought to ruin in a mere seven seconds.

He storms back inside and slams the door shut as you stoop to collect the little, broken thing, cradling it in your palms. Maybe it wouldn’t be fixed again, but you’ve hardly the mind to let anything be left abandoned like this.

Though the anger builds, white bitter smoke billowing through your veins, it remains tucked away inside eventually communing with the animal, all but entirely snuffed out when your steps lead you to the front door of the house.

The window to the right is open, not broken. The curtains were pushed aside as though to allow a breeze to enter. A muddy footprint, vast and long scales the siding, but there’s no exiting one to join it.

You stare and listen, taking one quiet step towards the open window to strain your hearing. Nothing. Inside, it’s quiet, only the sound of the breeze rattling that note left on the table, the ticking and the familiar creaks and groans of the house settling.

So, you enter.

With the poker from the hearth in tow, the rooms are investigated one by one. Each and every one of them clear of any intruder. Even the attic, for all of it’s imagined ghosts sits empty, stale and silent. There’s no one here, nothing out of place or broken that hadn’t already been cast out from the world and delivered into your hands.

Strangely enough, it’s more peaceful like this; the leaves could be heard rustling outside, birds calling, even the chirps and strumming of crickets too late to flee the onset of chill seeping through this purgatory, filling the mundane void with sounds of life and peace.

You leave the window open.

The pocket watch is left on the desk, the kettle filled with water and placed upon the stove to heat, all before your eyes trail over to that little table beside the front door.

The only thing amiss is there, your intuition roars at you: “Look, look. Just look.”

The table clock from this morning sits there, the wood casing dusty and the hands perpetually stuck to sit at six o’clock, easy to enough to break, and easier still to fix. An overworked battery and a little oil would be its saving grace; if only things could be so simple for yourself, for the thousand or so others that surely must feel the same— clawed, fretful little rabbits.

Your eyes narrow momentarily, vaguely recalling that the damned thing had been covered when it was dragged inside. Something sable and thick, a scrap of a heavy dress shirt perhaps, verily stained. Odd that someone would have broken in merely to steal something so useless, but stranger tales have been told. For all you cared, the perpetrator could keep it.

You entertain the idea of the wild man in the trees, thick and sturdy as one. Perhaps he left the note, stole warmth from your home and found comfort in that useless old shirt after leaving that roughly scrawled note. Though the idea would horrify others, it only sets your ceaselessly racing pulse at ease.

Toying with the idea that someone so very much like you lurks the hills, found a home in your eyes and paid a visit, kind enough to wait until you were in town as to not scare you… and the kettle begins to whistle.

———

You had forgotten to close the window last night. Or maybe it was left as an invitation, a silent offer of your companionship for the unknown thing that occupies your already haunted mind these days. Something in your subconscious dared you to simply forget, see what happens, and you’re not entirely disappointed to find out that yes, something has happened.

There are three flowers laid out there in a row, smushed by the weight of a heavy palm: a daffodil left golden and proud despite the way her petals fray and wither, and two others wild and unnamed with blue and white colors leading to vibrant green stems. And roots. He hadn’t the time to pluck them proper, nor had a sense of gentleness to his touch in doing so.

It’s the first time you’ve laughed in months, a giggling that makes your chest ache from a sudden mirth through all of this wretchedness. Who knew it would only take three flowers and the appearance of someone so disconnected? You take them and place them in a vase in the same spot, careful to add just the right amount of water to keep them living for a time.

Someone brought you flowers— actually brought you a gift, not a job. You remember those eyes, too. His hands may not have been gentle, but that look was.

Though darkness still creeps internally, you’re resolute in what you must do when you prepare for the day. You’ve never really worn this dress— a soft, white thing with billowing sleeves and tight cuffs that brings a swell to your breasts and cinches your waist. One of the women about town had given it to you in lieu of payment for repairing her husband's watch, left a note prattling onward for three pages about how a woman should dress to find a man. Three!

You’ll find him, thank him for the flowers, bat your eyelashes just a little and retrieve your umbrella. That’s all. The rain would be back, more deliveries would have to be made, and if you could manage a friend from all of this well… surely things could work out for you, just this once.

Your steps are less hurried and more tentative this time around. You don’t barrel through the woods like a galloping mare, mindful of your dress as you lift the fabric at the hips to avoid thick, slickened mire. There isn’t much to do about the thorns nipping at your ankles, leaving little scratches like cat’s claws in their wake.

The thought that maybe this was a ridiculous idea only settles in your mind after an hour of searching. You don’t even have a name to call him by, not an idea on just where he may be or what his intentions truly were, all further punctuated by the fact that you’ve found yourself in the midst of a wild orchard, the yellowing grass nearly reaching your knees as you reluctantly allow your dress to flow free. Thick clusters of apples hang above your head, each nearly ripe, some even fallen to leave a fragrant sweet smell in the wake of their rot.

Thunder roars above, distant but loud, cruelly threatening the wake of a downpour that would so easily sully the delicate thing you wear. Your chest aches from exertion, from whichever horrid fear it's settled on today, and you’re nearly fully convinced of your own madness when something does finally catch your eye.

There’s a cabin, nestled between the trees, old and lacking glass panes for the windows. The roof is covered in moss, walls creeping with the old green of vines and nearly hidden away entirely by the tall grass that rises above its face.

You could wait out the storm in the dark there, rethink your steps until you find a way back home and the prospect of actually entering a building that wasn’t the very picture of your own agony stirs something within you.

You don’t bother to knock, only waltz right in and let the door shut softly behind you. It creaks as it goes, whining from the rust laden over its hinges. As expected, the cabin is mostly barren; a set of dust laden chairs sits on opposite ends of a table missing a leg, a large bookshelf housing only a torn copy of Paradise Lost and a journal, a few dirtied dishes are left on the floor, and in the corner…

There are a lot of things that make you feel small.

You couldn’t live up to your father’s name in town. The thought that you were not an equal to the other ladies with their fine jewelry and dresses, rings wrapped around their fingers, that was a sore spot despite the way you refused to admit to it. Even the hounds lurking about the butcher’s shop on lonely night deliveries, baying and growling when your feet carried you too close.

None of those things could even compare to how you felt now.

The rug he lies beneath is large on its own, but your flower-giving, grateful titan seems even more so. It’s as though walking into a bear’s den and expecting a mere squirrel. Even curled into himself in sleep, he seems impossibly huge.

You couldn’t see much of him that first night, but now… where the rags that make up his clothes reveal a series of long scars along his legs, the hairy arms that seem far too thick: all of him, all of him is massive.

Your rabbit heart does not claw or fight you now, it only flutters, placated by the sight of something so… was there really a word for it? The idea that someone so imposing could strike the match of attraction within you. Feelings were strange, each comes sharp and new like the deliberate twist of a knife through a body, soft like warm bread.

You smile as you wander to his side, recognizing the cloth he wears over his head immediately as the one stolen from your house. Your dress is smoothed at your rear as you lower yourself to sit on your knees at his side, quiet and slow.

“Hello,” you whisper, placing a hand on a shoulder that dwarfs it entirely, feeling the bulge of muscle beneath the ripped shirt, the ridge of keloid scars from deep cuts laid into his skin.

The titan’s eyelids flutter for a moment as he begins to stir, staring up at the ceiling, teetering on the edge between waking and dreaming. Then, those cold blue eyes lock onto you. A flash of disbelief crosses them, just for a moment before something flips and from the holes ripped into that makeshift hood you see an expression that seems almost agonized.

“Hello,” he rasps after a long moment, shifting onto his side to prop himself up and raise his head to level with your own.

His breathing is shallow, almost panicked and you finally think to bring your hands to your lap instead, avoid touching him and potentially startling the poor man further.

“I wanted to thank you… for the flowers. They’re beautiful.” You pause as you study what little of his expression you can make out through the mask, the way his eyes crinkle at the corners only giving a glimpse of a smile. All teeth, probably, an excited one that even the imagination of warms your heart. “I put them in a vase. I didn’t want them to die.”

“I should not have…” His voice is softer than you ever imagined that it could be, well-spoken as the words are pulled from his throat. You find yourself transfixed, almost, praying that he continues if only to hear the delicate strumming of his tone, the soft sigh of breath that leaves him afterward.

“Es tut mir leid.”

The apology is followed by a low sweep of his gaze, slowly crawling from the peek of your cleavage to your hips to rest where your hands lay clasped in your lap.

He hardly seems to know what to do with himself, what to say, and all at once the realization dawns on you that no, he isn’t merely paying his thanks and seeking conversation. Perhaps that was part of it then, but now… he seems almost entranced.

You recognize those looks, from men in passing when they leered, but from him… from this weary, haunted stranger. It only seems a silent sort of reverence; as though longing for something he’s been deprived of.

“No, it’s fine, it made me happy.”

“Happy?”

“Yes, it was sweet.”

He falls silent at that, conflicted if the pinch of his brow were anything to go by. Then, sudden, he takes your wrist and jerks your hand toward his face, thumb brushing over the small calluses over each pad of your fingers. There’s dirt beneath his fingernails, even more scaring along those massive hands and you shiver. It’s not fear it’s… something akin to it, opposite by the way it dances and writhes in warmth rather than the cold.

“You have the hands of a maker.”

Strange, sweet Goliath.

His words are spoken somberly, as if there is more to say that he holds back. A part of you warns that you’re not prepared for it anyhow, so you let him continue that motion, brushing over your palm with a featherlight touch until it begins to tickle.

Your giggle prompts him to raise his head, watery eyes threatening tears when he hears that sweet sound bubble up from within you. His hand curls over your own, trapping you in his grasp as though little else matters to him more than the need to touch you in some way.

“You have kind eyes.”

“I am not kind.”

You shake your head at that, flicking your thumb across the top of his burly hand, marveling at the smooth skin of his scars and the rough texture of the hair that dots his knuckles.

“You’re sweet to me, and that’s all that matters.”

It could have been a mistake, how easily you’ve taken to this bizarre titan. Any lady with proper regard for her standing and womanhood assuredly wouldn’t have said something like that to a beast that has the stature and the scent of something wild.

Still, the words leave your lips far too quickly to draw back; he responds with an urgency.

You find yourself pulled ever closer by the iron grip on your hand, tugged into the rug-turned-mattress by this man as he cages you in to meld against his chest. He’s everywhere, warm and burning against the chill of your skin with flesh touched by hellfire.

You only sigh pitifully when his arm wraps around your waist. When was the last time you had even felt an embrace? You couldn’t recall, and even if you had, it would have paled in comparison to one such as this. You breathe him in like a summer’s breeze, tasting a hint of the apple orchard beyond on your tongue when you open your mouth to speak once again.

“See..?”

The tension in his muscles seems to melt away; if your heart is like a hare then surely his must be more akin to a bull. It takes some time before he softens entirely against you, despite his initiation. His breath is almost a pant when his hand trails upward along your back, feeling every ridge and dip and curve, breath catching in wonder as you allow it.

“You are soft like…”

His head dips to press into your shoulder, breathing you in, humming his approval at the mingling scent of clock oil and tea leaves that lingers on your skin. Even from beneath the hood, you can feel the way his lips brush over you, his mouth parted in a voiceless plea.

“… like one of the flowers.”

It’s almost torture really, how someone could be so comforting, so endearing.

His hand trails further, drifting over the backside of your dress to curl against your thigh threatening something if you don’t conjure the sense to stop him. It stokes the fire within you, glowing ember in place of a brain, it seemed. You feel weak, lost in a foreign touch and sweet, clumsily spoken words.

If the townsfolk could see you now, herded up in this stranger’s arms, surely they wouldn’t dare to cast any disapproval your way. Not one of those meek little devils would have a word to say… not now or ever again.

“You’re like… a tree then,” you whisper as you finally will yourself to twist away from the grip, already mourning the loss of warmth as a cold wind filters through the openings in the cabin.

He doesn’t sulk as you pull away, only seems content to have been blessed with that much. That mist remains in his eyes before they shut again, willing himself to rise to sit up just as you do.

“Will you stay?”

You glance over the cabin again, with all of its dust and cobwebs. Your umbrella sits in the corner, propped upright with its handle leant against the wall, out of place amidst the dilapidation prevalent here.

This wasn’t a home at all, just a quiet, cold purgatory. Though the halls of your own may mock your solitude, this place seems to echo his very being: alone, broken, rotting and so, so very cold.

Your heart bleeds as you weigh your options, expression growing sullen and torn. He notices, tentatively takes your hand again in an almost practiced way of providing comfort. Had he ever even…

Your thoughts begin to drift again, and you force yourself to settle on a choice. It’s not your heart that should be damned, but that horrid seed of doubt constantly burdening, stealing from, and clawing at you.

“I should get home, before the rain.”

“Verstanden.”

“You can come too.”

There’s an audible hiss of breath through his teeth, that peculiar look of agony crosses his face again… and finally, he weeps.

———

König, you think to call him.

He teaches you German from time to time, in turn for you allowing him to watch as you work away at the clocks. It feels fitting in a way. Not because he harbors the self-importance of a noble figure, nor his stature; he’s simply become something impossibly important in the week long span you’ve spent together now.

You’ve decorated the guest room properly for him, and in turn he’s brought you firewood, foraged and hunted so that neither of you have had to bother with the town. The fire raged in the hearth as the cold continues to set in, and your walks to town have been enjoyable now. He accompanies you to the hill on some nights, draws you a bath when you come home, even cooks.

So… maybe a king was not entirely appropriate, but calling him a servant certainly wasn’t either. Even with the way he seems to melt and become docile at the slightest brush of your hand, the way you know with a certainty he would die for you if you spoke the word.

And still, you call him König: the king of your heart.

There are flowers at your windowsill each morning, still clinging to their roots. You bake the bread while he cooks stew with herbs gathered from the little garden just beyond the walls of the home, one he’s graciously told you he’s wanted to expand for you. Books you’ve overlooked for years have been read end to end by him, and he especially seems to like those with art of flowers drawn into their pages, always seeking you out to show you, explain their meanings, expressing the beauty that he sees in them and within you.

You don’t know where he’s come from, what his life was like before this, and with the same respect that he gives to you… you don’t ask.

“We’re starting a new story,” you had said the first morning over a breakfast of hastily made apple dumplings. To which he had agreed, with a somber hum, nodding his hooded head.

Though you do wonder about his secrets, his face. Seeing him now is all it really takes to make you smile.

He comes through the door, hauling in the massive grandfather clock that a carriage had left only this morning. The bob and the lyre both appeared broken at a glance, but your heart sinks when you read the name on the note left attached to it.

The same petulant little man that had stomped that poor watch to pieces right in front of you, no doubt he had broken this one too in some sort of tantrum. What was it now? Had the poor clock chimes a bit too loudly during the night? Was that deserving of a foot lodged right into its heart?

“König, do you mind just leaving it there?” You gesture toward the middle of the room, watching as the muscles beneath his shirt don’t even seem to ripple from exertion.

“Natürlich.”

As you set to work, pulling away parts, straightening out bends and replacing what’s broken, he kneels at your side watching with rapt attention. There’s no fixing the pendulum bob entirely, it’s far too bent and scraped, but you wouldn’t be replacing that with work of your own either. The bastard gets what he gets and that will do.

In truth, your work since having König here has only improved, and perhaps you’re showing off a bit, but the way he watches you tinker with the dusty old things as if mesmerized fills you with pride. You could fix anything, yes, with him at your side you wanted to.

The house doesn’t echo wasted time anymore, only that crowding feeling of something buzzing and chirping, budding up in the spaces where shadows should crawl: love. You wouldn’t trade it for the loneliness to return, not ever. A new sort of fear that stings just as much as it does caress.

So you work in silence, only breaking it to answer the sparse questions that he throws out.

When the clock is shoddily finished, you wipe the oil from your hands on a rag, and take König’s own large arm as it’s offered out to you to stand.

“I will carry it for you tonight,” he suggests, delicately brushing a bit of dust from your sleeve. His touch does linger, always lingers, trailing up to massage at your shoulder and cup at your neck. The swell of heat that arrives at your face then, the press of your thighs beneath your skirt… it’s always the same.

“I thought that you didn’t want to go into town?”

Your shoulder meets his chest as you press against him, doing very little to calm your body’s frustrations. The blood within you stirs like a violent wave feeling him this near— cleaned up and dressed in some patchwork conglomerate of your father’s old clothes. He smells like a union between the earth and sea, salt and alder leaf, a hint of thyme and lavender.

His eyes glitter when his gaze roves from your face to chest, hand skittering down to curl at the small of your back. To anyone else, you would look the picture of husband and wife perhaps.

“I would go anywhere with you.”

A fresh normal, like the rise of spring, those words and touches that suggest more: threatening while you plead in silence for him to just give you a push, unlace your dress and finally feel and see him properly.

“Then… yes, let’s get the cursed thing out of here tonight.”

His grip tightens around you just for a moment, fingers curling and flexing into the soft linen covering you, bunching it up just so at your back before he relents, draws away.

“You dislike this one?” König sounds almost hurt, perhaps he favored it, being tall and similar to him in some way. Another odd thing, hard to place, but he’s never seemed to like you talking down about your own work, a habit that needed breaking.

“No,” you begin to explain, curling your arms around his middle as you both stare at the thing, ticking quietly before you, “its owner is just a pain.”

“I can tell. You seem nervous, meine geliebte.”

“You haven’t taught me that one yet,” you point out, not playing coy, despite the look he gives you that suggests you know.

There’s always that ache when his eyes narrow and that playful glint reaches them. How someone could look as though they’ve suffered dozens of lifetimes of pain and still have that look, you did not know, but it excites you. A furious, needy excitement.

“Beloved,” is all that he says.

The stare relents as he heads back out into the garden, leaving you to sort yourself out.

———

“You’re sure that you can carry it the entire way?”

It’s not that you could help, really. The thing must have weighed as much as yourself, strung up over König’s back with a rope he had found lying someplace in the garden.

“Ja, it’s fine.” He’s not out of breath in the slightest either. You realize then that if you put on all your charms bending, arching and delicately maneuvering your hands to fix the clocks, the assuredly this was his way of doing the same. You try to reign yourself in from staring at the damp spot on his shirt, clinging to his broad expanse of chest, the way that his thighs seem to tense with each step forward.

You can’t— you merely trail behind him until you take the lead to bring him right to the other man’s doorstep. Your hands find the ropes that keep the clock saddled to König’s back, carefully untying them as he stoops down to let its wooden legs rest against the ground below. It scrapes, the consequence of being so heavy and forced to stand on those four tiny legs, and only then does it decide to make a cacophony of noise signaling the new hour, a trilling sort of bong that makes even your ears ring as it breaks up the silence of the night.

You don’t even need to knock, because the door flies open immediately. The man stands proud, unperturbed by your giant companion as he shoves past you to inspect his clock. There are no greetings, no pleasantries, and if you were just a bit more careless with your reputation, smacking him would have only brought you satisfaction.

“Not good, but it will do,” the little man huffs, knocking at the glass casing over the clock’s face with his knuckle. “Be a dear and have your friend bring it in for me.”

You’ve no doubt that König senses your annoyance as he cocks his head at you, but when you give a curt nod in response, he does what’s requested. The clock is set in a large den. It’s not as opulent and gilded as you had expected, just a simple home housing a very infuriating man. You watch from the doorway, swaying on your feet as König rights the clock and pushes it where he’s directed. Just a few more seconds and the two of you would be well on your way, and perhaps he would even teach you a new curse for a man like that.

He comes uncomfortably close to König’s side, a smug look plastered over his face that only seems to exaggerate just how greasy and mousy that you know him to be. Something is whispered that you can’t quite make out, a dare, a mocking taunt, something that pisses you off even without the knowledge.

The hood is pulled off by thin fingers, cast aside to the floor beyond the pair.

The man’s face goes pale before you even get a glimpse of König at all. He backs away, mouth gaping as König calmly moves to retrieve the cloth. You think you hear the word “monster” mumbled amidst a slew of incoherent babbling, but when your companion turns to face you, you feel no fear.

König’s face is like patchwork, scars connecting all together. They run like small streams up from his jaw and over his chin, splitting his lip at the corner of his mouth and dancing up to his eye. The nose is broken in places, several times over likely, crooked with a bump that only seems strangely cute. The unkempt hair lining his jaw should be trimmed, but… there’s no monster here. Only a man who has seen and felt pains that you could not bring yourself to imagine.

His head dips when he notices your wide-eyes stare, a sort of shame hidden away behind strands of long, black hair. He shuffles out of the house and shuts the door behind him, standing rigid as he expects the worst, for you to wail and sob and gather a group of townsfolk to herd him far away with fire and stones.

You only take his hand.

“Let’s go home.”

He doesn’t bother to hide himself away again during the walk back, his hand remains in your hold, trembling every now and then and gripping you tighter as he struggles with the thoughts no doubt raging in his skull like a storm. You offer your comfort as you lean toward him, head pressed against his arm even as you turn the knob and step inside.

You warm a bath for him then, a task that is no easy feat. König does not offer his help, resigned to some belief that this is only a temporary pity.

He allows you to peel away his clothes, graze your fingers over his body, over the scars all with a barely contained creature scraping out from inside: the untamed bull that you can not see. You press a kiss there, over his heart, feel it’s beating against your lips, pulling away only when his thumb strokes your cheek.

Each new sight of him is just as wonderful as they have always been. It’s not that you take pleasure in seeing the way he must have suffered; the now healed bullet wound over his abdomen speaks volumes of just what people are capable of when met with the sight of something that they do not understand.

The questions burn at the back of your skull, bitten back as your jaw tightens.

You help him wash with soap and a soft cloth, carefully removing any patches of dirt and dust that have lingered despite his near-daily bathing since living beneath your roof. The rough beard is trimmed in full, until all that’s left is a trail of dark stubble lingering along his jaw, broken up by scars like thin spider silk that make up the entirety of his body.

His hair is a mess, too, matted and clinging to his skull in wild clumps. You’re gentle with the brush as you free the tangles, clipping at what can not be saved with sharpened scissors, and massaging at his scalp as he murmurs his approval. It’s such a subdued, gentle cooing from his chest, a purr almost that shatters your heart and forces it back into place instantly.

Whatever he was or was not, you were certain this stray had never felt a touch like your own, if he had ever been touched by human hands at all.

König seems to settle greatly once you’ve tended to him and it does seem to finally dawn on him that you’re not repulsed, you’ve touched most of his damaged body, and have only brought him the gentleness that should have been commonplace by now. This isn’t some elaborate torture method— it’s only tender.

“Your turn, hm?”

That, however, brings you pause. Your hands rest on his shoulder, carefully trying to loosen a stubborn knot when you abruptly still. As if that were all he needed for encouragement, his hands cinch your waist, pulling you up and over the rim of the tub as you whine your protests in hushed little hisses. All for naught, as you find yourself submerged below the waist.

“I’m still dressed,” you sulk as the water dampens your dress, now seated between his parted thighs.

König only gives a laugh in response as his arms encase you in another embrace, his head resting against the dip between your shoulder and neck as his chest is brought to press against your back.

“And you’re still mine.”

His fingers trail further down to the wet fabric billowing amidst the soft, lapping waves of the water, pulling it up until it rests just above your hips. There’s no tact, only a clumsy sort of desperation rarely seen upon men, especially not of his stature.

You allow him to loosen the strands of lace at your back, bring your clothing up and over your head to leave it resting and dripping over the rim, pooling below onto the boards of the wooden floor. Your undergarments follow to join the flooding pile of soaked linen and lace.

You’re flustered certainly, grateful for the water surrounding that conceals the warmth that echoes your fondness for this titan between your legs.

You even considered that he would be more shy, not… as eager to begin to wash you, and not with the cloth but with his own hands, nimbly moving over every dip and curve coating you in the slick residue of soap, leaving suds in its wake. He starts at your shoulders, breath growing heavy the more you soften and relax against his chest.

It’s only a matter of time before his hands find and cup your breasts, and you swear that you can feel the grin that splits his face as you melt further against him. König gropes at and massages you there, eager fingers deliberately stroking at your hardened nipples until you quiver and sigh.

You find purchase moving your arms to your sides to grasp at his biceps, muscles flexing as he works his way down your trembling abdomen to your mound, kissing at your shoulder as you purr your encouragement.

The praises that leave your lips come tight and barely restrained as a finger trails against your slit, moving up to circle your clit before diving back down to prod at you.

Your head is gently tilted back by his free hand, your face peppered in clumsy, messy kisses as a digit sinks into you. It’s lazy work, trying to find a rhythm with your squirming. He only seems satisfied when it presses further, curling against the spot that makes you mewl sweetest, and finally, he kisses you full on.

It’s delivered as sloppily as his fingering, any trailing thought left in your skull dims, fuzzy with sheer bliss as his thumb begins to pet at your clit in tandem with each push and drag of his index. It doesn’t help that you feel his own growing need, hard and hot against your lower back, throbbing with each sound pulled from your mouth, his hips jerking on occasion to drag his shaft against your backside.

“König, we should get out,” you murmur through a flood of heat that curls and urges and presses at your lower half to seek some satisfaction, have him bed you proper. “We can go to—“

His mouth meets yours again, hungrier and more determined than before, the water rolling with each flick of his thumb. In a mere moment you feel that heat stoke to an inferno, blazing from your stomach to cause your feet to kick out, water sloshing over the side of the tub as you ride out each passing wave of paradise crying openly into his mouth.

When your trembling does subside, he kisses your cheek and pulls you up from the water, wrapping you up in his arms. His stare remains ever burning, pupils blown to a coal black, dreamy in the way he slinks back just to drink you in further. You can’t keep track of all of the places his eyes seem to dart, which touch to settle on and relish as he paws at you from chest to rear, as if mesmerized that you are no mere illusion.

You’re giving him everything; no longer the king of simply a beating organ tucked beneath your breast, but your body, bed, wherever he chooses to conquer next, of all the things that he’s been deprived of.

“We will go to bed, beloved,” he rasps, sounding more present than ever. The nightmares lurking behind his eyes have long past now: all focus is turned to you. You’re the only thing that’s ever loved him in return. “We will… become one.”

“Have you ever…” Your own voice fails you now, the evident want between you two incapable of making this any less… tedious. It was tedious, a flighty feathered thing that seems keen on slipping out of your grasp at any moment. If it were to be his first, surely it should be special, somehow, someway. If it were not… you dreaded that thought, a bitter envy sours on your tongue until it’s shaken off.

“No,” he states simply, shrugging.

Though a sense of relief seems to flood you at that, you dare not show it. You will take him to your bed, climb atop him and show him how these things work, a slow sort of love and the rest could wait.

It was foolish to believe that König would settle for such a thing, wild and only temporarily tamed by your sweetness: he is entirely different the moment you’re herded into the bedroom. The desperation of his touches has faded out entirely, replaced with what feels almost like a rage.

He wouldn’t take out humanities sins on you, no, but he would years of brutal neglect have left him starved and it just so happens that you’re an outlet for it, something to feed from by way of spilling his soul and his seed all into you, taken back with the kisses and praises that would surely come after this union.

You’re unceremoniously pushed onto the bed, lying at your side as he climbs in behind you. He whispers his requests into your hair, even as his hand wraps to pull your thigh up before you can bless him with a nod in response. He struggles for a moment, parting your labia with the obscene, ridiculous thing that hangs between his legs. It drags over you in repetition, oiled like the clock cogs before the head of his cock finally finds the opening his finger explored only minutes earlier.

You almost expect him to break you right then, force you to take what your body— no body- had surely been made for, but he only thrusts the tip inside and gives you some time to adjust, roll your hips down centimeter by agonizing centimeter.

“You are… Does it hurt you..?” His voice is a breathless pant, trying to hold himself together despite the daze he’s found himself in, buried not even three inches into your cunt.

“No… you can move,” you breathe out, eyelids fluttering as you tilt you head to look at him over your shoulder.

König clings to you as he sinks further, grasping at your waist to pull your further down, sharp breaths hissed between gritting teeth as he delights in the way your womanhood grips at his shaft.

Just as before, there’s no rhythm to him, he takes the sounds that leave you as a direction, huffing into your ear words that your mind could not hope to translate. There’s an indulgence to it, shared between you both as his hand curls tighter against your thigh, spread open and accepting of the brutal pace he takes to have just a taste of what it feels to be a normal man.

His words falter at a point, when you feel your body tightening around him, sucking him in, closer, nearer as your head lolls back. The inferno from before pales in comparison to the blaze that overtakes you now, his voice strained with bliss as you begin to moan for him. With each drag and soar of his cock spearing you open, you’re only brought further to a glimpse of Eden. If this were the fall of man, you find you couldn’t question Eve for relishing in it.

“… you gave me a name,” he rasps, “A home…”

All at once that glimmer of heaven crashes down around you, bathes you in the glow of something lofty and holy as he pulls you close and drives himself to the hilt within you. The throbbing and pulsing of his length pulls you over just as his seed spills within, drips thick and flooding as your own sex drools in tandem, sharing a perfect rapture both clandestine and sacred. He gives you another generous thrust, ensuring that he’s carved a space inside no other man could ever hope to fill.

You fret when you find him weeping, quiet tears rolling down his pale cheeks to spill over your shoulder, but the gentle smile on his face is pacifying as you twist around to face him. “And now you have my love.”

“I’ll cherish it,” he murmurs, voice broken and pitiful as you’re maneuvered upward to rest against the feather-stuffed pillows against the headboard.

You curl against him, head resting on his chest, an arm draped over his waist. He takes your hand into his own, appraising it like the first time you properly met. Hands of a maker. Your mind wanders to significance in that statement, the things that needn’t be told are finding ways to curtain you anyhow when he speaks again.

“Could you fix me?” He asks, tracing over the calluses on your fingertips, still bathing in the afterglow.

The question, though you felt it coming, still hurts to hear him speak it: breathing life into a thought that should have never existed to begin with.

“There’s nothing to fix.” Though you speak true, though you know he feels your sincerity, his eyes are heavy when he looks to you again. “Why would you ask me that?”

The story that he tells you then is one of horror. From his maker down to the things he’s done, seen, felt: hated from the moment he woke into this strange world, the horrible loneliness that pushed and bedded down inside of him like acceptance never would. The people that he’s throttled in some desire to finally have someone like him; men, women, it made no difference. All of it is bared with only one message eternally prevalent: he has only ever wanted to be loved.

In truth, he was a monster. Not because he was given the instinctual urge to be, but because it was all he knew. Gnashing teeth from demons hurling that word out with every stone they threw, every shot and stab at his heart.

You listen, despite the way it hurts, pull him a little closer when he ends his tale with your meeting, how he knew you were the only blessing he would ever receive in his lifetime— however long that may be.

You were good at fixing broken things, but König never needed to be fixed. Only found.

———

“Now you’re supposed to say it,” you hum, as his hands reach to the hem of the hood— his- covering your face. They rove beneath the fabric, curling against the skin of your cheeks, tracing small patterns there, some rotations like the clocks, others the childish hearts scribbled into books.

“I vow to take you as my wife.”

“You’re bad at this.” You giggle when he does finally push the cloth up past your nose, above your eyes and further until it’s pulled back like a veil.

“I will love you endlessly,” he continues, returning your noise of elation with a huffed laugh of his own. “I already do.”

“I love you, too.”

No one in town would ever properly marry you two, not if one look could make a weak man fall to his knees in horror, but here, beneath the roof of a home once echoing the same voice that haunts him… it was good enough. The moon seems to echo your vows with dancing rays, stars twinkling in approval as the calls of night birds carry through the open window.

There are no rings, no written formalities to be stored away with dust-ridden papers, preyed upon by mites. It’s far more sacred, genuine than the flippant affairs and arrangements that go on with those that would so readily cast the both of you aside. In truth— the thought of them rarely comes; doesn’t even rile up that intense fear inside of you any longer.

Everything only seems easier with the blooming garden outdoors, and the man who gazes upon you like he sees divinity itself behind your eyes, in the softness of your flesh.

When you kiss, it’s something from a fairytale, flowers strewn at your feet and the veil removed from your hair by a gentle hand.

Eden doesn’t seem so much like a memory lost to time, after all.

#könig x reader #könig x you #konig x reader #konig x you #könig #konig #cod fanfiction

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demonic-charcuterie · 1 year ago

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Asmodeus x Fizzarolli x mob boss! Reader

Ozzie pulled on his morning robe as Fizzarolli listed off his morning schedule.

“And then we need to take a trip to the greed.” Fizzarolli said while Ozzie slid his bacon on the white plate.

“Greed?” Ozzie’s deep voice said washing his hand.

“Y/n is back from her business trip. I figured we could surprise her.” Fizz said smiling wildly.

“Maybe you should called first? Remember last time you should up unannounced?”

Fizzarolli shuddered as chills ran down his back while he dialed your number

You had just put a spear to someones head when your phone started ringing with that adorable wind chime ringtone you have just for your Fizzpop which of course drowned out by the sound of gun fire to you just assumed it was your work partner Sergey.

“NOWS REALLY NOT A GOOD TIME SERGEY, WHAT THE FUCK!?!!?…WAIT HOLD ON I THINK I HAVE ANOTHER GERNADE…BANG! THATS RIGHT YOU BITCH ASS!”

Fizzarolli held his ear away from the phone until the sound of yelling and gunfire suddenly stopped at the sound of a limousine door closing.

“It’s Fizzy silly!” He said giggling.

“OH FIZZY! Baby, honey how have you been! I’m sooooooo sorry my work trip lasted so much time. Have you been eating alright and how about those new limps me and Ozzie were working on. Is Ozzie near by. I’m so sorry my super cute ringtone for you was drowned out by the all the screaming of pain and agony!”

“Everything’s FINE! I was just wondering if my and Ozzie could come over~?” His raspy voice growled into the phone and if you hadn’t been sitting your knees would’ve have given out.

“I-oh! Did we have a date tonight!? One sec babes. STAN! STAN YOU SHIT FACED BITCH YOU DIDNT TELL ME I HAD A DATE TONIGHT!”

Ozzie raised an eye and then grinned to himself. “They are so fucking hot when they yell.” He said his legs shuddering. Fizzarolli nodded his head in agreement as he mouthed ‘I know right’. Ozzie gently took the phone from Fizzarolli’s hand his deeply sinful voice rang out into your ear.

“Hey mami~” He whispered and your jaw went slack. “Baby boy is that you?” You asked as you felt your legs quenching at the sound of your handsome man’s voice.

“Yeah it’s. How’ve you been baby.” He asked smirking. “It’s been good, same old same old, breaking backs and cracking skulls!” You giggled and kicked your feet against the seat. Satan’s fucking taint this motherfucker.

“Great great. You know what me and Fizz would really love?” He asked as he heard your voice hitch over the phone. Fizz extended his arm and snatched the phone. “For. You. TO BREAK OUR FUCKING BACKS WHIEL YOU USE US AS LITTLE FUCK TOYS!”

Ozzie looked at Fizz in surprise. You giggled on the other side of the phone and you whisper in a raspy voice into the phone. “Come over. I’ll be ready for you.”

Fizz rested on Ozzie shoulder as one of your goons marched them down to your room. You sat on a chair in the center of the room with your broad surrounding you. “Ahh the Sun of Lust, the fuck are you doing here.” You spat (it pained you to act with such disgust towards your love) your eyes peered into fizzaroli. “And you brought the sex toy?”

Ozzie stared at you expressionless and waved a hand to your board. You sighed and flicked your wrist. “Leave us.” They all scurried out of the room.

You drew the curtains and closed the door and then turned to them. “My babies!” You screamed before jumping into their arms.

“Oh honey how we’ve missed your voice…and your touch.” Ozzie said while using his pinkie finger to stroke your head.

“We’ve even thinking about you all week!” Fizz said wrapped his arms around you.

(That’s it cause I’m tired 🥱)

#Spotify #helluva boss #helluva boss x reader #fizzaroiii #fizzarolli x reader #fizzaroli helluva boss #fizzarolli x asmodeus #asmodeus x reader

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lesservillain · 11 months ago

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eddie munson x best friend!reader

summary: a previous request I had to write eddie and a weird girl!reader. edited just a tad for better flow.

cw: none

Eddie watched as you picked up another rock, examining it carefully in your hand before tossing it towards the lake. The two of you had been out here at Lover’s Lake for close to 2 hours now, skipping the rest of the school day after you'd asked him to bring you here during lunch.

The boys laughed at him for how easy it was for you to get him to do anything. But Eddie only gave them the finger as he trailed behind you out of the school. You never asked him for much, so who was he to deny you?

You and Eddie had known each other since he moved to the trailer park to live with Wayne. The two of you fell in and out of friendship over the years as you both went through the motions of life that got you to where you were today.

Sometimes you two were inseparable, and other times you kept to yourself. Choosing to be alone for weeks or months on end until you would knock on his trailer door like you'd just seen him yesterday. Many deemed you weird for your antisocial behaviors, including your own mother. But, Eddie knew you would come back around eventually, and he always welcomed you back with open arms.

With his legs dangling out the back door of his van, he brought a newly lit cigarette in his mouth to chase the joint he had just finished as he watched you do…whatever thing you needed to get out of your system today. He should have known you were going to want to spend the day outside with the overcast that had been looming. You hated the heat from the sun, preferring the shield of the clouds to cover you while you look for different bug or flowers or whatever you deemed worthy to be picked from the ground.

“Oh, Eddie!” Your excited voice had him jolting straight up, greeted by the site of your bright smile before him. “Look! This one’s got a fossil in it!”

Eddie opens his hand for you to place the rock in it. Your discovery stays hidden until you pull your hand away from his. And, sure as shit, there’s a print of some old ass plant or something on the side of the little rock.

“Woah, that's fucking cool,” he says, matching your energy for your find. He hands it back to you and you hold it in both hands, face beaming at your discovery. Eddie likes it when you get like this. The pure, unadulterated bliss that beams from you feels like it could cheer him up on his deathbed.

But after a moment, your expression falters. A crack in the joy of the moment that Eddie clocks right away.

“What?” He asks, looking at you even though he knows you wont give him eye contact back.

“Eddie, why do you hang out with me?”

Eddie reels back. It’s not the first time you’ve dropped heavy questions on him before, but he wasn’t expecting you to hit him with that one.

It was one he wasn't sure how to answer. Mostly because the answer was complicated.

Why was he your friend? Why did he like having you around? Why did it kill him when you distance yourself from him?

Okay, maybe the answer wasn't really that complicated. Rather, admitting it was.

Because the truth is that Eddie is completely head over heels for you.

Ever since he’s known you he knew you were it for him. You never thought that he was a freak for having a dead mom and a jail bird dad. Never judged him for being poor even for trailer park standards. Certainly never made any remarks about his music tastes.

He hadn't always been subtle about his feelings, telling you when you were younger that he would marry you someday. He still gets a kick when he thinks about the way your nose scrunched up at the suggestion.

He would pester you any chance he could, and Wayne had to tell him to not be so forward or else he was going to scare you off. Little did Wayne know that it would take a hell of a lot more than Eddie’s strong personally to push you away. He eventually realized how well you could meet Eddie’s energy, calling the two of you a match made for trouble.

Because Eddie loves when you would barge into his room without knocking to show him a painting you’ve finished. Or when you would tap on his window at 3 am because you couldn’t sleep, knowing he was probably still awake too.

He loved when you would join the Hellfire Club at lunch, telling Grant to move so you could sit next to Eddie’s spot at the end of the table. He loved that you wanted to be around him, and he wanted to be around you just as much.

“Because we’re friends,” he says casually. Your eyes lift to meet his. He can’t tell you how he feels. He can’t risk giving you a reason to run away from him. “It’s been like, what, 10 years now since we started hanging out? Why do you want to know now?”

Your eyes shift down, avoiding eye contact with him once again. You must be worried about something he thinks. He wishes he could read minds just to see what you’re thinking.

“I was just wondering," you say in a tone that tells Eddie you were not just wondering. "Don’t want you to think you’re obligated to hang out with me or anything.”

“What?” He shakes his head incredulously, laughing at the absurdity of your assumption. “I don’t feel obligated. I like hanging out with you. Promise.”

He sticks his pinky out for you to twist with yours, something you’ve been doing since he pinky-promised to be your friend when the other kids said you were too weird.

But you don’t accept it, crossing your arms over your chest and curling in on yourself. Your boot shifts as you nervously roll a rock under your heel. It’s quiet for a moment, and Eddie drops his hand slowly, not liking the way the air is shifting around the two of you.

Something feels off. Final.

“I don’t think it’s a good idea for us to hang out anymore, Eddie,” you say matter of factually.

Forced. He can tell you’re putting on a front, like the one you put on for your mom. He wonders if she’s got something to do with this.

Eddie’s throat feels dry, breathing in through his nose to keep himself together.

“I don’t know why you would think that. Did I do something—”

“No,” you cut him off, looking at him in the eyes for a few seconds before averting your gaze again. “It’s not you Eddie. I just…”

Eddie stares at you with his big brown eyes hoping you’ll give him something, anything to try and fix whatever has you feeling this way.

“Don’t you want a girlfriend?”

Well that was the last thing he expected you to say.

“I’m sorry, what?” He blinks up at you, confused at where this conversation is going. You take a sharp breath through your nose, and huff, brows pinching as you become visibly upset.

“Well you and Jeff and Gareth were talking about how hot the cheerleaders uniforms are, and — and you said that if you had a chance you’d like to see what's under their skirts—“

“Okay, hold on, I didn’t say that,” he says defensively, but you give him a look that makes him back track. “Or, even if I did, I only said it because it was Gareth and Jeff. I didn’t really mean it.”

“I’m not mad that you said it, Eddie. I just," you breath in, a slight hitch in your throat as you do. "…I hear what those girls say about me…about us and…I just feel like…I—I,” you sniffle, “I don’t want to be the reason you can’t get a girlfriend.”

Eddie tries so, so hard not to laugh. Like, he’s really trying to hold it in because you’re clearly very upset. But he can’t suppress wide grin that slowly creeps across his face.

“Sweetheart,” he finally says, “You don’t really think that do you?”

Your only response is a silent nod and Eddie’s heart only grows more for you.

“Trust me, you’re not why I don’t have a girlfriend,” he says with a tone of self-deprecation. It’s not the full truth, because technically you are the reason, just not in the way you think. “Those cheerleaders wouldn’t want me whether you’re around me or not. And it’s not like there’s a line of girls dying to date me or whatever.”

He twists his rings around his fingers, waiting for your response. When he looks up, you’re looking at him like he’s got three heads.

“What?” He laughs.

“Are you joking?” You ask him very seriously.

“Joking about what…?”

“That you don’t have girls trying to, you know, get with you…”

“Oh, no, definitely not.”

A smile finally cracks on your face at his words, and an immediate relief washes over him. The tension in your body visibly washes away and you take a step closer to him.

“Okay,” you say with a soft smile.

“Can I ask why you’re so worried about me getting a girlfriend anyway?”

“Well, my mom said—“

He raises his hand, stopping you mid sentence, “That’s all I needed to hear.”

It warms his heart when you laugh, melting all the worries away. Though, he still can’t help feeling like he could lose you forever at any given moment. It would gut him if you really did decide that he couldn’t be in your life anymore. He already gets sick at the thought of you meeting someone else, someone other than him, and moving on to leave him in the dust.

“Why do you hang out with me?”

He likes the way your eyebrows shoot up when he turns your question back on you. He thinks that he’s got you just as flustered as you had him, but you look at him with a shake of the head as you speak very matter of factly.

“Because I love you.”

Eddie has to catch himself before he can get too excited. This is you that he’s dealing with here. And you could mean that in so many ways; as a friend, a brother, a lover. And, god, did he hope you mean the ladder.

“Love me how?” He asks carefully, trying his best not to sound to excited.

“Like…well, sometimes, when you do stuff that’s, like, really cute or makes me happy, I just want to—“ You bring your hands to his face, something you’ve done many times over the years when he’s going on about D&D or music or even just when he’s reading. He always assumed it was your way of expressing that he was being a bother or overstimulating you, so he would usually stop or change the subject. “—just grab you and kiss you.”

Eddie knows his face has to be as red as a tomato. His heart is going a million miles a minute and he can barely keep his breathing steady.

Holy shit is this happening?

“You want to kiss me?”

You nod, “Yeah, like, a lot.”

“Why haven’t you?”

Your eyes practically bug out of your head, dumbstruck at his words.

“I can do that?”

“Please?” It comes out breathy, meant to be a joke, but almost as a beg.

And so you do. Your soft, mint chapstick covered lips hastily meet his, head tilted ever so slightly so your noses don’t bump as if you’ve done this before. Have you done this before? Certainly not with him. It makes his blood boil thinking that someone other than him has ever gotten a chance to do this with you.

The feeling of your fingers gliding across his scalp, nails skimming in a way that sends goosebumps down his arms. He takes the opportunity to bring his own hands to your hips, pulling you closer to him to deepen the kiss.

When you finally pull away, Eddie leans in to chase after you. And when he finally opens his eyes, he feels sick—lovesick at the sight of your pleased smile. The way you’re looking at him with a sparkle in your eye makes him feel like he could do anything.

“Wow,” you say between the two of you.

“Likewise,” he says with an airy chuckle.

“Can I do it again?” You ask shyly.

“Sweetheart, you can kiss me whenever you want,” he says dreamily.

“Really?”

He hums in response, cut off with a hmph as your lips meet his again.

And again.

thank you for reading.

#eddie munson x reader #eddie munson #best friend!eddie munson #best friend!eddie munson x reader #best friend!eddie munson x best friend!reader #eddie munson x weird girl!reader #eddie munson x wg!reader #eddie munson fluff #eddie munson fanfic #eddie munson st #eddie munson blurb

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lovelytsunoda · 3 months ago

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you, me, lonely | mercedes amg (platonic)

summary: life is kicking baby mercs ass, and nothing has been alright since the last time she watched a brat pack movie. her head is too loud, life is moving fast, and she just wishes she knew how to stop and take a breath

pairing: mercedes amg (platonic) team x female! reader (but this one is real heavy on her interactions with lewis!)

warnings: y'all should know these by now tbh, there will be some anxiety and there will be feels and my girl is on the verge of a breakdown, mentions of pregnancy (not on baby mercs part lmao), she is finally ready to admit that maybe she should think about going to therapy.

part of the family is the friends we meet along the way series

her mind froze as she stared at the text on her screen, phone lying next to the keyboard of her work computer. she'd read the message three times over, and it still wasn't quite clicking.

clement: i thought you'd want to hear it from us before it hit the gossip rags....olli's new girlfriend is pregnant.

that shouldn't have hurt as much as it did. olli wasn't hers. she'd made it clear that she didn't want him after he'd kissed her at that holiday party.

so why was there an achy feeling her gut?

why did her head feel so loud that it might explode?

"hello? earth to yn?" the soft voice called her out of her reverie, and she looked up from her desk to see a worried lewis standing in front of her desk. "are you alright, kiddo?"

"yeah." she said, not really meaning it as she brushed some hair out of her face.

crazy how he was her first (and only) kiss two years ago, and now he was having a baby with someone else. she'd already blocked his number, and there was no point in sending him well wishes considering just how burned that bridge was.

"you don't look fine." lewis pushed gently. "a problem shared is a problem halved."

she sighed, locking her computer and tucking away her phone. "join me for a walk? i need to take my mandatory fifteen."

she grabbed her sherpa jacket from the back of her desk chair, heading towards brackley's patio doors. the cool fall air slapped her in the face as she pushed them open, moving to stand at the corner of the deck, attempting to soak up the last of what little sun england gets.

"remember that guy i kissed at marcus armstrong's holiday party a few years back?"

lewis nodded. "i do recall."

"he's going to be a father in march." she sighed, watching her breath turn to mist in the air. "somebody wanted him, but nobody has wanted me since him."

she knew in her heart of hearts that she hadn't really tried. she hadn't even really wanted olli when she thought about it. she couldn't date a driver, especially knowing that she would almost always come second to his career.

"and now with you leaving and graduation drawing closer, i just feel like my fucking head is about to explode." she laughed grimly, a realization coming over her. "i'm mentally ill, lewis. i need help. and it has taken me five fucking years to get to the point where i've felt like i could ask for it."

lewis could hear her voice cracking, and he didn't have to turn and look at her to know that she was close to tears. he silently reached out to pull her into a hug, not wanting to push too far, but also wanting to offer the reassurane and comfort that he knew she needed.

"the first step is admitting you need help. we have some of the best therapists in our industry here, yn. and if none of them work, we'll find out which ones are covered by your healthcare plan."

she resisted the urge to sink deeper into his arms with a hearty sob, instead choosing to focus on the grounding smell of his cologne, the feel of his strong, tattooed arms around her.

"and just because i'm at ferrari doesn't mean im gone for good." lewis reminded, pulling away to make sure she looked him in the eyes. "you know that i'm one phone call away, whenever you need me, right?'

she nodded weakly, thinking about the long distance calling fees and the timezones, and all the other reasons why lewis' grand plan might not work.

"i wish you weren't leaving me." she mumbled, hoping that even if lewis heard her say that, that he wouldn;t feel guilty. she knew deep down that he wasn't leaving her, but leaving a team that he felt could no longer build him the car he needed.

"you can call me any time, hey. and mostly everyone else will still be here. you'll still see me on race weekends. besides, once you graduate, you'll be too focused and too busy to have time for us anyways."

that was true. she couldn;t work here forever. sooner or later, it would all end and she'd find herself working in a county courthouse or a small family firm.

maybe somewhere coastal, like devon or halifax. her next big adventure, far away from home.

if she could make it through therapy first. lewis made her promise to talk to toto, who would be able to arrange a meeting with one of the on-staff psychologists for her. she'd met a fewof them in and around the break room, and they seemed personable.

like the kind of people that wouldn't judge the firestorm going on inside her brain at all hours.

they both knew it wasn't going to be a permanent fix, and that there were bigger, different things coming to the mercedes amg headquarters in the next season, including a seventeen year old boy who's gross income was about four times what baby merc could veer hope to earn.

but she was really starting to find her footing here. all she could hope for now was that she managed to keep it until graduation.

she felt somewhat lighter after her talk. being social had never been her forte, and she only somewhat conversed with the ladies in the legal office. talking was hard, she found.

but as lewis walked her back to her desk, and she took a look at her stack of files again, she felt better, albeit slightly.

"hey, yn." elodie, the tall and funny goth girl who worked at the desk next to her stuck her head over the glass dividers. "a few of us were going to grab a drink later and maybe go catch a late movie. did you want to come with us? don't at all feel like you have to say yes if you don't want to. i think doriane is coming, as well as-"

"elodie." she said, smiling to herself. "i would love to tag along. thank you for inviting me."

elodie grinned. "no problem, girlie. we're all going to meet in the front lobby. susie recommended this incredible cider place, and we try to go at least once a year once fall hits."

with her heart feeling a little lighter, and her spirit a little warmer, she turned back to her computer, a small, dainty smile on her face.

maybe making new friends outside of her post secondary education wasn't going to be as hard as she thought.

after all, didn't it only take one conversation to gain the great lewis hamilton as her most trusted ally?

she was so fortunate to work somewhere where everybody cared so much about each other, and that was the thought that she pledged to hang onto during her loneliest of hours from now on.

#family are the friends we meet along the way series #mercedes amg petronas x reader #formula one x reader #formula one x reader platonic #toto wolff x reader #lewis hamilton x reader #george russell x reader #f1 imagine #kimi antonelli x reader

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kalivodas · 5 months ago

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part two to this little thang

warnings this is nasty he is nasty we are nasty i am nasty :/ freeuse! reader, p in v and m!received oral and he’s kinda mean about it but he’s so pretty you barely notice. DUBCON ! ! !

YOUR MIND IS reeling when kyle stalks away from you. he’d reached inside your chest, plucked out your heart and played with it right infront of you. squeezed it twice for good measure and shoved it back in with a grin on his face.

“prick,” you mumble to the empty air of your shared living room.

a sick little thought falls into the rather unyielding part of your head. it dances on your tongue, burns like fever and makes you jump to your feet like hot coals were under your ass. they were about to be.

you pad off to the bathroom, soft tiptoes as you, with as much silence as you can muster, crack open the bathroom door. the showers loud and hot, beating on his skin like the sun in the middle of july.

you grab his things. towel hooked on the wall, the fresh clothes he had folded on the counter, dirty ones he had kicked off. you throw them all on his bed, and amble back into the living room to prepare for combat.

your hands hang uncomfortably in your lap. waiting. waiting. waiting a little mor—

kyle yells your name. it doesn’t sound mean, though, but like you’d just started a game you didn’t know the rules to.

“yeah?” you call back nonchalantly. the bathroom door clicks and you picture him, junk in hand, shivering and stalking off to his bedroom.

you fall into a little heap of giggles. until you hear the soles of his feet carry him into the living room. your head jerks around, almost involuntarily, and your jaw seems to unhinge itself from your top row of teeth.

kyle garrick was as naked as the day he was born. infront of you. grinning.

there was no shame to him, you’d have to buy some and shove it down his throat for that.

you are staring up at him, indecorously, then down, then back up for a moment. he was chubbing up. the bastard, you think. your jaw snaps shut when he closes the space between the two of you.

“think you’re funny, lovie?” he asks, gaze pressing onto you like it’d hurt him to look away.

you nod your head a little. “well, yeah.”

“brat.” the words bite, sting for a few moments, but the way his face softens at you — lips turning up sweetly, you don’t know whether to tear up or mewl.

his hands caress your face, envelope it between those two taut palms. he leans down and kisses your mouth. his tongue finds your lips, prying and pushing until he’s licking inside your mouth like he wants to find sanctuary.

you whine. his groan vibrates your teeth.

his posture straightens, one hand finds his own cock, and he strokes it once or twice before he’s directing the hard length to your cheek. he taps it against your mouth, lets his chest shake when you let out a pathetic whimper.

“what, you don’t like it when i’m mean to you?” he coos.

your head shakes, bottom lip protruding into a ruby pout. the way you shift on your thighs say otherwise.

“if i shoved my hand down those pretty shorts, your pussy wouldn’t drip on me, would it, baby?” he laughs when he feels fever hit your cheeks. he strokes his thumb against it before he pinches your jaw.

“open up.”

your pupils blow, but you listen to him. your tongue falls from your mouth, and you widen your mouth as far as possible.

he was— fuck, it was huge.

he spits on your tongue before he’s shoving his dick in the gap of your mouth. his body shudders at how wet your fucking mouth is.

he’s sweet at first, just slides himself up and down your tongue. when drool starts to pour from the corners of your cheeks, the saccharine of him melts.

gaz hooks a finger in your cheek to allow himself further in, and when your throat seizes around him, he pulls out quickly. stares down at you for a minute, and big, searching eyes stare up at him. he thinks there are fat tears pricking the corner of them.

“‘m not gonna last with that pretty mouth,” he stammers out, and the revelation seems to draw you further in. you reach back out, wrap a hand around all you can manage of that lovely cock, and put those pouty lips right to work.

your eagerness excited him. you can feel it against the flat of your tongue, how he seems to jump in your mouth, how his hips stutter and his vice on you tightens.

“want it in my mouth,” you whine. “fill it up, pretty boy.”

he comes at that, thick white spurts hitting the back of your throat as your nose tickled his base. his hand is set like stone on the back of your neck, and he doesn’t realize until you’re sputtering for air.

“fuck,” he pants, and pulls you out of your seat so he can finally put his bloody mouth on yours again. “why’ve we neva’ tried that?”

“dunno,” you place a wet kiss on gaz’s face. “i’m not a frequent klepto.”

his chest rumbles as he tugs you up and onto his lap. he’s already rocking a mean semi, but his hips glide up to your thighs, and he meets that warm, soft, wetness of you, he’s ready to bully his cock into you until the sun comes up.

a/n : dedicated to the people who asked for a continuation sending x’s and o’s @iite-cool @mistydeyes @yuksthings 💋 💋 💋

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flametrashiraarchive · 2 years ago

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hi there!! could I request a sanemi x reader where the reader is either taken or severely injured by a demon?? I am a SLUT for a good protective angst to fluff so you may take any and all creative liberties🤭🤭

Argh this hurt so good haha. Poor 'Nemi 😭 thank you for your ask! I hope you enjoy it!

Cw for you being badly injured, blood, swearing, being in a coma. No sex, just pain and suffering (with a happy ending)

Sanemi Shinazugawa x injured reader

"Fuck, fuck, FUCK!" Sanemi presses his hand firmly to your stomach to stem the bleeding. "Not you. Not you too. You're not fucking leaving me, understand?"

His heart is pounding in his chest, his blood running cold. The demon who injured you is already dead, but if it wasn't Sanemi would kill it all over again and again and again. How fucking dare that monster do this to you? He wants to tear it apart.

"Talk to me. Say something, goddamn it." His voice cracks as he begs you.

You're barely clinging to consciousness as you reach up and caress his face, accidentally smearing your blood across his cheek. "'Nemi… it's okay."

"No it's not fucking okay, moron."

And then you pass out, and he realizes those are the last words he may ever say to you.

It's his fault. All of it.

If he'd fought harder, been firmer with you about you staying home for this mission, taken out both demons instead of trusting you to deal with one of them. If only if only if only.

Sanemi's life has been plagued with if onlys. He presses his forehead to yours and prays. Who he is praying to, he has no idea… you, the gods, Buddah, death itself… anyone who'll listen.

"Please, please, please. Not you. Not you."

Hot tears roll down his cheeks as he keeps applying pressure to your wound. His kasugai crow is on its way to bring help. All he can do is hold in your guts and plead.

"Don't leave me alone."

He puts his cheek against yours so his lips are by your ear. "I'll marry you. I'll treat you like goddamn royalty. I'll do anything, just stay. Stay with me." His voice breaks. "Stay. With. Me. Please!"

He doesn't let go. Even when the medical squad comes to help, he keeps the pressure on your wound until they pull him off. And then he holds your hand. He holds it the entire way to the butterfly mansion. He holds it as they operate and put you in a bed to recover, as the doctors come and tell him things he can't understand. All he cares about is whether or not you'll survive.

Why won't you wake up??

It doesn't matter if you have to rest for months: he'll take care of you while you're bedridden and make sure you take your medicines exactly on time. It doesn't matter if you'll struggle with training for a while: he'll kick your ass all the way through rehab and make you even stronger. He'll change dressings, cook, clean, anything.

Just…

"Come back to me," he whispers, holding your hand to his forehead as the sun sets on the fifteenth day of your coma. "Wake up, please."

He's sleeping when you finally do.

Your vision slowly refocuses to find him resting his head on the bed beside your arm, his hand still wrapped around yours. He stirs as you run your fingers through his fluffy white hair, a faint, sleepy smile curving his lips before he snaps back to consciousness and bolts upright.

The force with which he hugs you damn near knocks you into another coma.

"Don't do that again," he whispers. "You hear me?"

It hurts, but you smile. "I love you too."

He buries his face against your neck and holds you tight, unwilling to ever let you slip away again.

#sanemi angst #sanemi needs a hug #someone hug him #i'll do it #sanemi x reader #sanemi x y/n #kimetsu no yaiba sanemi #sanemi x you #demon slayer sanemi #kimetsu sanemi #sanemi shinazugawa

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wileys-russo · 9 months ago

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i need a pool day blurb with jenni after that bikini picture pretty pls bsf 💘 tysm

this is for @sunnyaelia who is constantlyy feeding my jenni obsession pool day II j.hermoso

finishing the final chapter of your book you near moaned with happiness, feeling as though you'd just scaled a mountain as immense gratification flooded your sun soaked bones.

with a content sigh you snapped it shut, patting the cover fondly and carefully tossing it onto the table a few feet away.

you'd been tackling said book for a far too long, and always having been an avid reader ever since childhood it had bugged you to no end that these days it took you months to finish a few chapters when you used to fly through a few books each week.

but life commitments seemed to stump that nowadays, though on vacation for the week it was the ideal opportunity to rectify that and only just two days in it made you feel immense relief that you'd conquered that.

you'd had your doubts of course, and they came in the form of the tall, tattooed clown you had the pleasure of calling your wife.

jenni was your favourite distraction but she was constantly just that, a distraction.

any sliver of free time you had away from family or work was consumed by her need for your every ounce of attention, and whatever you didn't give her she would simply take one way or another.

but your athlete superstar world cup winning striker was not as easily relaxed as you, and despite being on vacation together insisted on continuing her at times robotic rituals of exercise.

not that you could really complain given as much as you adored jenni as a person and a partner; her body, stamina and rippling physique was an immense benefit to all the perks that came with being mrs hermoso.

so your wife was off on her morning run, kissing you goodbye far too early for you to do much more than hum and roll onto your side as she chuckled and gently closed the bedroom door behind her with a click.

you'd arisen a couple hours later surprised that she still hadn't returned, but with the peace and quiet of her absence came the opportunity to finally finish your book and work on your tan, so here you were.

and it would seem right in the nick of time as you heard footsteps pad their way through the villa before her slides slapped against the concrete of the courtyard and suddenly your warmth dissapeared.

"you're blocking my sun hermoso." you warned with a small smile, eyes still closed but protected by a pair of sunglasses which were promptly snatched from your face.

"i am your sun, hermoso. just lighting up your days with my good looks and my muscles and my endearing personality." jenni quipped back with a grin as she settled her glasses on your nose and you cracked one eye up to stare up at her blankly.

you'd be lying if you said they didn't dip a little lower for a moment taking in her sweaty, toned and tanned half naked body before you which wasn't missed by your wife whose grin only grew at the sight.

"enjoying the view esposa? front row seats to la feria de armas." the gun show, the footballer smirked and flexed her arms obnoxiously with a few mock grunts as you rolled your eyes.

"can i get a refund?" you asked blankly, own smile curling upward as jenni's dropped and you closed your eyes again, kicking her gently and making a shooing motion with your hands.

"get out of my sun and take a shower, i can't tan in the shade amor." you chuckled and exhaled happily as she stepped aside and your face was once again bathed in the warm cancun sun.

"oh a shower? good idea, gracias bebé." her slightly chapped but still soft lips pressed sweetly against yours as she ducked down and slipped your stolen sunglasses back on your face before you smacked her ass with one hand as she passed, sending her a cheeky grin.

"niña traviesa." your wife clicked her tongue disapprovingly though you could see the corners of her mouth tug upward in amusement as she stripped off the singlet leaving her only in shorts and a sports bra, her well defined tattooed back disappearing into the villa.

you assumed that meant your peace and quiet resumed, how wrong you were.

"oh dios mio jennifer!" you groaned in annoyance as suddenly footsteps smacked against concrete and there was a brief pause of silence before a body met water with a loud splash and droplets rained down on you one after the other.

"sí precioso?" the girl popped up at the edge of the pool, tattooed arms crossed and her chin resting on them with a wicked grin as you glared down at her and wiped yourself off with a towel.

"idiota." you grumbled, tossing the now damp towel down on the ground and lying back down with a huff. "you suggested a shower no? i just wanted to share mi amor." again droplets rained down as her hand smacked at the water sending a small tidal wave across your legs.

knowing she was just egging on for a reaction you refused to give her one, only standing to turn your lounger around to face away from her before flopping back down on your stomach now which made her laugh, your wife pushing off the side of the pool and floating around humming something to herself as you settled yourself again.

but of course that too didn't last long.

"cari?" the striker called out, still floating on her back with her eyes closed, having changed into a brightly colored bikini which left very little to the eye or the imagination

you hummed in response, the noise muffled as you were still laying stomach down on the lounger a few feet away. "if you are in a competition with yourself, do you come first or last?" your wife asked as you only sighed, all too used to the strangely wonderful but weird way her brain worked.

"neither, no opponents means no winner or loser." you answered without moving a muscle, the older girl making a noise of surprise at your answer, quiet falling again as she took a moment to reflect on it.

"cari?" again you hummed in response, readying yourself for whatever was to come next. "can you daydream at night?"

"no mi amor, thats just thinking." you chuckled slightly at that one, jenni making another pleasantly surprised noise as again a beat of peace passed.

"cari?" a hum again. "if you clean a vacuum, do you become a vacuum cleaner?" you could hear the obvious grin in her tone at that as you snickered quietly. "no you'd actually become useful." you quipped as your wife scoffed in offence and kicked water at you, the few icy droplets which hit your back making you wince slightly.

"cari?" another hum. "if you drop soap on the floor, is the floor clean or is the soap dirty?"

"why?" you finally pulled your head up, sitting up at peering at her over the top of the lounger as she continued to float around the pool. "why not?" she rebutted, ducking under the water and doing a backflip beneath the surface as you rolled your eyes.

"show off." you shot at her, sunglasses slipping just down your nose as you watched jenni pull herself slowly out of the pool, sitting on the edge of with her legs still dangling in the water, wringing out her hair and stretching as she scraped it up into a bun atop her head.

your gaze found home on the way her soft tanned skin tensed and flexed with each movement, water drops cascading down her like she was stuck in a rain storm as she exhaled deeply and rolled her neck.

catching your eye she winked as you shook your head and laid back down as she stood and made her way over, disregarding the unoccupied lounger to your right and instead sitting on the edge of yours.

"so, is the floor clean or soap dirty mi todo?" you flinched ever so slightly as a cold finger traced down your spin, a smile forming on your lips which faced away from your wife who was writing out i love you on your back.

"both, the floor becomes clean where the soap hits it but the soap becomes dirty as it touches the floor." you answered simply as she hummed, seemingly satisfied with that answer. "smart and beautiful." the girl complimented, twisting around and trailing kisses down your shoulder blame as you sighed happily.

"i knew you married me for my mind." you teased. "no, for this." jenni grinned, one hand cupping a handful of flesh on your ass and squeezing before patting it affectionately as you reached out and pinched her thigh making her chuckle.

"again, idiota." you shook your head resisting the urge to smile, knocking her with your knee a little as you wriggled and flipped onto your back again, sighing as your glasses were once more snatched off your face.

"there is another chair there." you reminded as your wife scooched you across with her hands and laid down beside you, both of you near hanging off either side of the small lounger as her wet torso pressed against yours, though as the sun rose higher in the sky and the temperature soared upward the slight reprise now wasn't unwelcome.

"very observant mi vida, bien!" jenni grinned as your eyes opened and winced slightly from the sunlight hitting them, your wife quickly sliding your glasses back over them with a kiss pressed to your cheek.

"jenni i am going to fall off!" you laid in silence pressed against one another for a few minutes before she grew restless, sitting up and moving about nearly shoving you off.

but as you opened your eyes to tell her off further your words died in your throat, mouth running dry as the footballer tossing her soaking wet bikini top over her shoulder and smirked at the way your eyes clearly fixed to her now naked chest though disguised behind the glasses.

her breasts sat to attention, perfectly round and staring you right in the face as your wifes look of utter delight and amusement only grew.

"oh you wanted more space bebita? of course." you barely had time to process her words before her leg was swinging over your hips and she settled herself on top of you, shaking her head as her chest bounced and droplets rained down on you ironically only causing your mouth to dry up further.

but as you reached out eager to touch them her hands caught yours, interlocking her slender fingers with yours and pinning them down to the lounger as she leaned down, the feeling of her wet naked chest pressing against yours nearly having you moan.

"can't have you moving around too much ángel, you might fall off." her pearly white teeth bore down at you in a wolfish grin, sloped nose tucking into the crook of your neck as your eyes fluttered close at the special attention she gave the taunt skin there.

you felt her grin widen as your hips bucked ever so slightly up against hers as she suddenly bit down on the sensitive skin just beneath your jaw, sucking on the tanned flesh until it had turned dark red and sent your head spinning.

"mi niña bonita." jenni purred, kissing softly over the mark and trailing her lips across your jaw before finally pressing them against yours, a slight grind of her hips down into yours causing your breath to hitch with a gasp and her tongue to slip past your defenses, easily taking control of the kiss.

you barely had time to enjoy it before suddenly she was using her strength to easily pull you up and swap your positions, sliding beneath you as you now sat on top of her catching your breath momentarily.

unrestrained now you wasted no time gliding your hands across the firm ridges of her abs, bending down to press feather light kisses across her collarbone, tongue darting out to flick across the H tattoo on her sternum as she exhaled and tangled a hand in your hair, tugging your head up and into her neck.

"niña buena." the striker sighed as your hands finally found her chest and squeezing right as your lips sucked your own mark into her neck, normally not something your wife so easily allowed but too distracted by your hands kneading away at her chest to stop you.

but right as sudden as everything had started, in true hermoso fashion it was just as quick to stop, your hands grabbing onto her shoulders with a cry of surprise as suddenly she stood and hauled you up with her, legs wrapped around your waist.

"jenni no no no por favor amor i washed my hair last night!" you begged and tried to get down as you quickly realised what was happening.

but all you got in reply was a grin as you held your breath and your wife launched the two of you off the edge, icy water engulfing your body as her long tattooed legs hit the bottom and pushed off, the pair of you resurfacing as you coughed and spluttered slightly in shock.

"you looked hot cari, just wanted to cool you down." the brunette teased still holding tightly onto you as you smacked her forehead with a huff.

"estúpido idiota!" you hit her shoulder as she only laughed, pushing over to a more shallow spot where she could stand a little taller, hands squeezing at your ass in a silent attempt at an apology.

"pero tu estúpido idiota." jenni cooed with a smile that was softer, kissing your lips slowly and sweetly as your anger melted away, really unable to stay mad at the endearingly dopey grin on her face as she pushed a wet strand of hair out of your face with a lovesick glint in her eyes.

"well lo siento mucho but you are stuck with me forever and ever and ever now mrs hermoso."

#woso #woso community #jenni hermoso x reader #jenni hermoso #woso x reader #woso fanfics #woso imagine #woso blurbs

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gardenveela · 2 months ago

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life is kicking my ass but i keep coming back to your the moon, the sun...and jayce post and cracking the fuck up for a good five minutes. ty for that fr

everything is going to be alright 🤎

#ask

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silence-burns · 1 year ago

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The Death of Me //part 1

Fandom: Aquaman

Summary: (very small spoilers for the movie) Finding Orm on your doorstep was not something you expected. Having him move in was even worse. But the effect he still had on every part of your life would be the death of you.

The sun was blinding, but unfortunately, not enough to make the man standing before you disappear.

“You're in surprisingly good shape for a dead person,” you said.

“And you look terrible for someone supposedly alive,” said Orm.

You shrugged and immediately regretted it. The tight bandages keeping your shoulder in place worked as a poor reminder it was out of commission for the next few weeks.

“How I've missed that princely charm. Piss me off some more and, half-dead or not, I'm gonna kick your ass back into that desert I got it from. It might be the last thing I do, but if I become a ghost, I'll brag about it for eternity.”

Your mood soured further with every minute you remained conscious. Surprises and resurrections, you could deal with, but your ability to be polite left long ago. There were a lot of impolite and certainly unprincely words bubbling in your chest, but they all disappeared when the most magical, impossible, and straight-out-of-fairy-tales thing happened.

Orm, of his own volition, smiled.

The sun was still doing its best to blind your already red and swollen eyes—it failed yet again. You examined the strange occurrence, with the furrowed brows and all the small wrinkles and tiny folds in the skin that usually accompanied a person’s smile looking perfectly normal on his face. It was a genuine smile. You could only blink at him for a moment

“I thought scowling was the only expression you had. Like a factory setting, you know.”

“I'm glad to hear you are as sharp as ever, despite your current shortcomings.”

“Excuse you, I'm in great shape.”

The man in front of you politely didn't argue. It was rather clear from his expression that he had some serious doubts about not only the state of your body, but also about your mental capacity of acknowledging said state, but he made the wise choice of keeping these thoughts to himself.

Wise was your middle name; therefore, you allowed the silence to confirm your words. At the same time, you shifted more of your weight against the doorframe, hoping your grimace came across as menacing rather than painful. Your leg needed a bit of rest, nothing serious. It totally wasn’t almost crushed to pieces a few weeks ago.

The smile on Orm’s face, an expression you could get used to seeing, started to shift into a look of concern as he watched your eyes. You looked away, afraid of how much he could see. Before you could react, he picked you up and carried you inside the house.

It was a pretty house, very spacious, just like old rich men tended to enjoy—which might explain why Batman bought it a long time ago as a safehouse far from any prying eyes, and why he allowed you to occasionally use it as such.

Yet, despite all the initial spaciousness, it was rather easy to clutter if the person living inside had a few cracked bones, general lack of energy to move, and never invited anyone around to see the mess.

Orm raised an eyebrow when he noticed a sofa dragged into the kitchen area and the amount of empty, crushed packaging laying around it. You hated how much could be expressed without saying a word.

“Put me down.”

Your words came out weaker than intended. Orm held you in a bridal carry which put immense pressure on your cracked ribs and sent flashes of pain every time you inhaled. But he was so warm and close that your anger sizzled and faded.

With your head on his shoulder, you had the perfect view of his perfect profile and the perfect frown deepening the wrinkles between his brows.

“So, this is how you live now?” was all he said, in a controlled tone.

“I know you're not deaf and heard me the first time. Put me down. Preferably on my beautiful and completely normal kitchen bed, thank you.”

You sighed with relief once he finally listened. Even though the pressure of his arms around you disappeared, somehow you still felt his warmth, as if it seeped into your battered, bruised flesh. You felt your face getting hot and decided against following that train of thought.

Your heart, for a reason you also chose to ignore, skipped a beat when Orm turned on his heel and walked back to the front door. It took him comparatively less time than when you had to drag your ass to open it a few minutes ago.

But rather than walking outside and disappearing from your life again, Orm only closed the door. And then turned the lock too.

“I don’t like where this is going,” you said, in vain hope that all of this was just a bad dream you'd soon wake up from.

“What a shame,” Orm said with no shame whatsoever in his voice.

“Why are you here? I might be a little late with that question, but I'd still love to know the answer.”

Orm took measured steps to the kitchen table, assessing the seat with the least amount of trash surrounding it, and sat down. He sat upright, posture uncompromised in the face of a backless stool, and folded his hands on the table. How he looked royal surrounded by trash and cold leftovers was beyond you.

“As you have witnessed, thanks to Arthur, after that final battle I got a way out of my old life. I enjoyed it for the most part, and even wandered the surface world for a while. And then I heard about your accident and came to settle my debts.”

“You don't have a debt to me.”

“When I was awaiting sentencing for my crimes, you were the one that took care of me. And not so long ago, you helped Artur break me out of that prison. That alone guarantees my utmost respect.”

“Your debt is paid, you owe me nothing.”

“That's not how it works.”

“I don't need a nurse, especially one who isn’t wearing a sexy costume.”

“I'm afraid that part is not negotiable.”

“Wait.” You squinted, doing your best to focus your thoughts despite a rising migraine. “This cottage is in the middle of nowhere, with the nearest town a few hours on foot and only if you already know the way. And the only people that knew I got… a little roughed up, were those in the Justice League. Did Artur give you a ride here because he felt guilty he didn’t stop that building in Venice from falling on me?”

“Every day I am thankful that I don't know the inner workings of my brother’s mind.”

“So he did.”

You let your head fall back onto the makeshift kitchen-bed. It was too much for you.

You grabbed the pills from your secret under-the-pillow stash of meds and swallowed some painkillers.

“I'm going to kill your brother.”

“May you have more luck than I did. Now, do you even own any clean clothes?”

#orm marius x reader #orm x reader #aquaman orm x reader #orm x you #orm marius #aquaman imagine #aquaman orm #the death of me #aquaman the lost kingdom

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cmdrfupa · 30 days ago

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Dating toji was the best decision you’d made in the last few months. Slow pace, genuine connection and a hot man who looks like he eats bricks for lunch. Operation: First Overnight Stay is underway. And apparently so is the first snow storm of the season.

cn: Toji. Toji being hot. Toji being himself (he’s soft yanno).

The snow started much earlier that you expected, the kind of lazy, drifting flakes that almost whispered promises of an impending storm. You hadn’t thought much of it at first, snow wasn’t known for sticking around you so you figured it’d be gone by morning.

By the time the sun dipped below the horizon, however, the snow was coming down in thick sheets. And while the news app on your phone should’ve been buzzing with a winter storm advisory it was hushed while iMessage, Instagram, discord and the few noti’s on from tumbler had top priority.

“Where the hell is this man?” You glanced out the window, streetlights emanating their soft golden glow over the accumulating snow. It was peaceful quiet in a way you didn’t often get to experience in the city. But tonight was not suppose to be about quiet. It was suppose to be your first over night with Toji staying at your place. A sleepover date if you will. Or what you loved to start calling Toji Time.

You’d spent the entirety of the afternoon nervously preparing from tidying up your bedroom, lighting a couple of your good candles in the living room, and even debating whether to pull out the joy cons to beat his ass in a few games.

It wasn’t feeling like just another date. You invited the man over to your house, it was the start of something more consistent. And now with a heavy snow fall, you couldn’t help but wonder if anything about the evening ahead would go anything like you planned.

A sharp knock broke your thoughts and you hurried to open the door. Toji stood there leaning casually against the doorframe with grocery bags in one hand and a duffel bag slung over his other shoulder.

Snow dusted his hair and the shoulders of his coat. He gave that usual cocky smirk that was always firmly in place.

“You weren’t gonna let me freeze out there, were ya?” he asked, leaning in to plant a small kiss on the top of your head.

“You’re late.” you moved out of the way and he stepped inside.” “And whats with the groceries?”

“Storms coming.” he replied, sitting the bags down before shaking his jacket off. “The roads were already looking dicey so I took my time. And I figured you’d forget to stock up.”

You stared at him, incredulous. “You knew there was a storm coming?”

He raised and eyebrow, reaching into one of the bags and pulling out a roast. “You didn’t?”

Of course you didn’t. Why would you check the weather when your plans for the evening involved nothing more than a quiet dinner and, maybe, the two of you falling asleep on the couch after watching the first half of the third Lethal Weapon movie.

But now, as you watched him unpack bread, popcorn, fresh veggies, pasta, snacks that could feed 20 and even a twelve-pack of beer. It started to dawn on you that tonight was in fact not going to go as planned.

“So you planned on getting snowed in here?” you crossed your arms then made your way across the room.

Amused, Toji shot you a look. “Got a better idea? Roads are a mess already and the storm part is about to really kick. And besides,” he added, a grinch like grin spreading across his face. “This doesn’t feel like a complaint but more like a subtle nod of approval.”

With a sigh, you resisted the urge to throw something at him before cracking a smile. “You will have duties.

“Of course.”

“You’ll have to cook if it ends up being more than a day or so. And clean your pee off the seat.”

Toji came up to you and wrapped his arm around your waist. “I’m no slob. Piss belongs in the bowl and I lift the seat. Have some faith in the man you’re dating.”

“Uh huh..” you squinted at him. “Treat my home like a pig sty and you're sleeping out in that ball freezing cold, Fushiguro.” your finger felt like it hit a brick wall as you poked his chest.

He chuckled, low and rumbling, as he leaned in to kiss your cheek. “Whatever you say, ma’am.”

You both settled into the evening. Date night not going exactly as planned but made the best of it despite passing out only an hour into the second Lethal Weapon movie.

As the night stretched on and the snowstorm did indeed worsen with each passing hour, the atmosphere was all that you hoped.

It felt less empty, more warm and far more cozy. You began to wonder if being snowed in together might not be the worst thing after all.

______

The smell of coffee, the sound of some gruff voice singing and the lack of heat stirred you from your deep sleep om day two.

“I thought I turned the heat on last night.” The grogginess in your voice was a simple whisper as you rolled out of bed and grabbed the nearest long sleeve you could find. With a little more effort, you shuffled out of your bedroom and towards the source of your shortened sleep.

There was something making your stomach feel fluttery as you walked towards the kitchen. The closer you got, the clearer the sound of Chris Cornell’s voice became as your view became clearer: Your heat was on but the personal heater that had been keeping you warm was now shirtless in your kitchen flipping a piece of french toast.

So casual, maybe a little too comfortable with his sweatpants sitting right below his waist. His shoulders broad and slightly flexing even with as small of a movement as plating french toast then dipping another piece before.

Equal parts irritation and attraction.

“Not polite to stare, babydoll.”

You straightened up as if he could see you even with his back turned. “I didn’t know you got up this early.”

Toji turned 45 degrees, giving you just a peek at the full breakfast he’d almost finished cooking. “Not a fan of staying in bed long. At least my stomach isn't a fan” He smiled and nodded towards the coffee pot on the counter closest to you. “I remember you saying you liked that bustelo cafe stuff. I hope its strong enough.”

“You didn’t have to,” You shuffled over to the machine, seeing that a mug was already sitting out. “And the mug I use. Thank you, Toji.”

“Of course. Thought I’d at least feed you good if I’m going to be in your space for a couple days. Though,” Toji flipped the french toast over then turned to you ‘ If you want to pay me back, you can via those little crispy shits you brought to me that one day.”

You sucked in your lips, trying your best not to laugh as you poured your creamer in. “The little crispy shits are called palmiers. And I got you.”

“Palmiers. Crispy shits. Whatever, they are delicious. You know how to make a man ache and yearn with those things.” he winked before turning back, taking out the final piece of toast and plating it.

“Need any help?” you tried peeking around him to see the rest of what he had plated and he moved his shoulders to hide it.

“Aht. Sit.” Toji blocked your view but you didn’t miss his grin as he did. “I’m almost done. Just tell me how you like your eggs and we’ll be ready to eat.”

You watched him almost expertly crack the eggs open as he cooked them to your liking. Then you watched how his weight shifted from one hip to the other as he leaned against the counter.

There was something about just how his pants were sitting that made you feel a rush of heat across your neck. This man was built. A true dad bod with a slight pudge that sat atop his waist band. Stocky and plenty to climb. “Are you not cold just wearing pants?”

He sat the plate in front of you then sat his across from you. “I’m honestly a little warm. From the cooking probably.”

Toji went to pour himself some coffee, sipping the black drink and humming as he shuffled back to the table. “You were like a heater last night. Will definitely be needing that heated cuddle again tonight.”

You began to cut into your french toast, taking a bite and closing your eyes as the cinnamon and vanilla flavors mingled on your tongue. You heard Toji snicker and it brought you back. “What?”

He turned his smile downward and shook his head as he took a bite of his fried egg then bacon. “Just sounds like you enjoyed sleeping with me.” He chewed and kept his eye contact. “I enjoyed sleeping next to you also.”

You hadn’t even had sex together and this man made you feel like he had you twisted up like a pretzel last night. You cleared your throat and tried to ignore the tingly feeling that crept up your spine as you stuffed your mouth of the toast and a piece of bacon to avoid saying anything.

He began to make light conversation. Passive thoughts on the holiday market he wants to visit with you and the guys at his gym who he knocked out first round when sparring. “So now he’s probably going to try and get me banned but jokes on him, Shiu has been my guy for decades.”

The trail your eyes let from his pecs back to his face was embarrassing. Another forkful of toast and sip of coffee to hopefully keep him from saying literally anything.

“Glad to see you enjoying my cooking. My pleasure to fuel you for the day ahead.” Toji winked knowing you were practically paralyzed from his teasing. “I’ll take care of dishes pretty. Just go get warm.”

The bastard.

-----—————-

As midday rolled around, Toji opted to nap it out on the couch, which left you attempting to do the same with no success. You’d been lounging around all morning post breakfast with Toji. Cuddling and talking which left him tired but you feeling restless. So you took to old faithful pinterest, set on finding some soup ideas to surprise man the same way he did you this morning.

“Kathiew..” a cambodian beef noodle soup “Hmm.. beef bones, oxtail bones, five spice, doot doot dooooo.’ you quickly browsed over the rest of the list. “I actually have all these things?” you got up and went to your freezer, pulling out the meats then to your fridge to pull out the vegetables not looking at the spices as you knew you had them.

“Well shit. I do have everything.” You wasted no time prepping your ingredients. Cleaning the bones, charring the vegetables and getting everything on a low boil as you added your five spice, rock sugar other flavors to the large pot.

You weren’t use to cooking so much, it was just you and had been you for quite awhile, unless you were cooking for your coworkers. And this recipe was honestly a bit of a larger bite than your usual pinterest picks, but it felt well worth it. You were taking this whole dating thing seriously and he had an appetite.

“Maybe it is the way to the heart.” You teased yourself at the stride of cooking for a man you’d been dating for almost 5 months and the furthest you’d gone was twirling your tongue around each others like two teenagers. But you liked taking it this slow. It’s how you liked your fics and it was proving to be a great for your own love life.

The soup would take almost all day so you decided on an easy baking venture of palmiers and a small banana bread loaf.

Mid cookie forming and the sound of a bears yawn caught your ear. “Babydoll? You get tired of me and drift off into the snow?” his grog laced voice sent a warm trickle down your back as he shuffled into the kitchen. He took you in starting with the sway of your hips then your eyes as you peered over your shoulder to him.

“In here making your little crispy shits.” you picked up another small piece of dough, rolling it into the palm leaf shape and placed it on the cookie sheet.

“Oooo. And you’ve got them a little larger. They look good.”

“Mhm.”

Toji wrapped an arm around your waist and gently pushed into you as he placed a small kiss at the crown of your head. “And whatever you’re cooking smells absolutely delicious. You’ve been busy, girl.”

You shook your head and smiled. “You’ve also been asleep for 5 hours. Needed to occupy my time with something so I tried out a new recipe. A beef noodle soup called Kathiew. Looks very promising.”

The atmosphere should have been perfect, cozy and intimate, but his offhand remark shattered the fragile balance as you went to place the first batch of palmiers in the oven.

“Didn’t realize this snowstorm was an excuse to play house,” he said, his tone teasing but his words sharp enough to sting. “Top contender with doing all this.”

You froze mid-step, turning to look at him. His expression was unreadable, but the comment landed squarely on a nerve you hadn’t realized was exposed. The evening was supposed to be special, a milestone in your relationship. Instead, it felt like he was brushing it off as something trivial.

“If that’s how you see it,” you said, your voice quieter than usual, “then why are you even here?”

Toji’s smirk faltered, replaced by a flicker of confusion. “What’s that supposed to mean?” he asked, straightening up slightly. “You’re the one making a big deal out of nothing.”

“Nothing?” you echoed, incredulous. You placed the sheet you were holding onto the table with more force than necessary, the clatter cutting through the silence. “Do you know how much I thought about you staying over here? How much I wanted this to be a nice next step in whatever this is to you?”

“And it is nice. More than,” he said, his tone edging toward defensiveness. “You’re getting worked up over a joke. I didn’t mean anything by it. Just relax.”

“That’s the problem,” you shot back, crossing your arms. “You never mean anything by it. So what am I supposed to think? That you just show up because you’ve got nothing better to do or you didn’t want to be snowed in all alone and pitiful? To play house with a woman.”

His jaw tightened, and for a moment, neither of you said anything. The weight of your words hung in the air, heavy and unyielding. You could see the gears turning in his head, the way his fingers flexed as though he was trying to figure out what to say. But Toji wasn’t someone who dealt in words; he dealt in actions. And actions, you realized, weren’t enough for you right now.

You looked at him for a moment as you cleaned off your hands. “I need a few minutes to myself.” you mumble before walking past him, leaving him at a loss of what to say and do.

“Shit. Babe wait,” he didn’t reach for you, instead following close behind as you walked hastily to your bedroom. “That isn’t.. just wait.”

“I need time alone. Please.” you quickly closed the bedroom door in his face and tried to make sense of what exactly made you respond this way. Top contender? Was he just playing you? Feeding you all this nonsense on being so into you only to play house?

“Fuck fuck.” Toji stared at the door for a moment, unsure how he was suppose to recover from this. He knew he fucked up big. “Top contender? There isn’t even another one, the fuck was I saying?” He whispered to himself, heavy hands dragging down his face as he took a step back, sliding down the wall until he sat on the floor.

It’s quiet in the apartment, save for the soft hum of the heater and the occasional whistle of the wind outside After what felt like an eternity, Toji let out a slow breath and ran a hand through his hair. “Look,” he started, his voice quieter now, less defensive. “I’m not good at this stuff, alright? But if I didn’t care, I wouldn’t be here. You think I’m buying groceries for everybody? Cooking breakfast for just any woman? You are literally the only contender, the one contender I want and need.”

The unexpected vulnerability in his words caught you off guard. For all his bravado and sarcasm, this was Toji’s way of admitting something deeper, even if he couldn’t say it outright.

“You’re serious?” you asked, your voice softening.

He gave you a look, part exasperation, part something else—something gentler, as if you could see him through the door.. “Do I look like the kind of guy who’d stick around in a storm if I wasn’t?”

You let out a small laugh despite yourself, shaking your head. “I just... I don’t want to feel like I’m the only one trying, you know?”

Toji’s expression shifted, his usual cocky smirk replaced by something more genuine. He stood up and moved closer to the door. “You’re not,” he said simply. “I’m here, aren’t I?”

The words weren’t grand or poetic, but coming from him, they meant more than anything else he could have said. You nodded, the knot in your chest loosening as you realized he was trying—in his own way, he was trying. You slowly opened the door and looked up to see the softened gaze in his eyes.

Your lips twitched into a reluctant smile, the tension in your shoulders easing slightly as you stepped into the hallway and poked his chest. “I really need to know that this isn’t some for fun thing once we have sex or im some temp girlfriend for you.”

Shaking his head, Toji took your hand and led you to the couch, sitting you down before sitting right next to you. “Honesty hour time. Ready?”

“Are you wanting to be that honest?”

The earnest look in his eyes gave you your answer.

With a deep sigh, he sat up and spoke slowly. “You’re my first real thing in a long time. Like long long time.” Toji squeezed your hand as he tried to work his way through his thoughts. “You know how in movies and shit when they say that their person makes them feel comfortable and like home?”

Your lips twitched into a reluctant smile, the tension in your shoulders easing slightly. ‘You’re calling me your person.”

“You didn’t know that?” He grabbed your other hand, sitting on the edge of the couch to look directly in your eyes. “I might be shit at this type of thing, But you are mine. You quite literally cussed out that lady who tried scamming me out of 300 bucks.”

“Toji. Thats just a random Tuesday for me.”

He laughed out loud while holding your face with his, that look of adornment filling his green eyes as he saw the warmth and genuine care he had for you flood his mind. “You being you is why I adore you in every way. I apologize for my words. They were fucked up and you didn’t deserve that.”

“We are both learning and figuring it out. You just have to be real and open with me.”

“I’m willing and ready. I promise.” toji leaned in to kiss your forehead and lingers for a moment before pulling back only a few inches.

“You are going to give me a headache. I swear.” You beamed as he helped you stand up and let you lead him to the kitchen.”

“Maybe. But It’ll mean I’m always on your mind.”

“Holy shit, Fushiguro, you’re actually unbearable.”

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

The storm outside has finally started to ease, but the world beyond the windows is still blanketed in thick, untouched snow. The apartment felt warm and lived-in after three days together, an unspoken rhythm forming between the two of you.

You’re in the kitchen, leaning against the counter as Toji scrapes batter into a pan to make pancakes. He’s shirtless again because why wouldn’t he be and moving with the casual confidence of someone who’s been here a hundred times before.

“I’ve gotta admit,” you speak up, watching as he expertly flips a pancake. ‘You really are the poster boy for domesticating a man.

He smirks, glancing over his shoulder at you. “Don’t get used to it. This is a special occasion.”

“Oh, being snowed in with me is a special occasion now?”

“Damn right it is,” he says without missing a beat.

You laugh, shaking your head as you grab plates from the cabinet. There’s an ease to the conversation now, a closeness that wasn’t quite there three days ago but formed after last nights conversations. As Toji finishes the pancakes, he nudges you gently out of the way to grab syrup, his hand briefly resting on your hip before he moves past.

“You’re in my kitchen,” you tease, setting the plates down on the small table.

“I’m making the food, aren’t I?” he shoots back, but there’s no real edge to it.

The two of you settle in to eat, the conversation drifting between teasing banter and quiet moments of shared warmth. Toji, as usual, eats like he hasn’t seen food in days, and you can’t help but laugh at the sight.

“You’re really making yourself at home, huh?” you say, resting your chin in your hand as you watch him.

He pauses, his fork halfway to his mouth, and gives you a look. “What, you want me to leave?”

You roll your eyes. “You know that’s not what I meant.”

There’s a beat of silence before he leans back in his chair, his expression shifting slightly. He’s still got that casual confidence, but there’s something softer in the way he looks at you now.

“I was thinking,” he starts, scratching the back of his neck like he’s trying to find the right words.

“Dangerous,” you quip, earning a small smirk from him.

“Funny,” he says dryly before continuing. “I was thinking... this hasn’t been so bad. You know, us being stuck here.”

You raise an eyebrow, playing along. “Oh? High praise coming from you.”

“So,” he said casually, “what are we calling this?”

You paused mid-bite, looking up at him. “Calling what?”

“This,” he said, gesturing vaguely between the two of you. “Us. You’ve got me snowed in, wearing your apron, cooking breakfast… Feels like I should be getting some kind of title out of this.”

You raised an eyebrow, setting your fork down. “Are you asking me to define the relationship, Toji?”

He shrugged, but there was a faint hint of color on his cheeks. “I’m just saying, if I’m sticking around, I might as well make it official. Save myself the headache of wondering if some guy’s gonna swoop in while I’m not looking.”

You couldn’t help but laugh at the way he danced around the subject, his usual bravado masking a vulnerability he didn’t quite know how to express. “So you want to be exclusive?” you asked, a small smile tugging at your lips.

He leaned forward then, his green eyes locking onto yours. “What I want is to make sure you know I’m serious about this. About you. So tell me what we are. And I am so locked in with you.”

The sincerity in his voice took you by surprise, and for a moment, you just stared at him, your heart swelling with warmth. Then, unable to resist, you reached across the table and laced your fingers through his.

“Okay,” you said softly. “We’re exclusive.”

A slow grin spread across his face, and he gave your hand a light squeeze. “Good. Now eat your pancakes before they get cold.”

“You can warm them and me up then.”

“You’re impossible,” he mutters, but there’s a warmth to his tone that softens the words.

“And yet, you’re still here,” you tease, your smile softening.

You rolled your eyes but couldn’t hide your smile as you picked up your fork. The two of you ate in comfortable silence, the snowstorm outside nothing more than a memory. And as you sat there, sharing a meal and stealing glances at each other, you realized this—this feeling of warmth and belonging—was exactly what you’d been hoping for all along.

The snowstorm may have brought you together, but this—this closeness, this warmth—is what’s keeping you here.

#jujutsu kaisen #jjk #fushiguro toji #zenin toji #jujutsu kaisen toji #toji x reader #toji fushiguro x reader #toji fluff

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sugarcoatedstarkey · 2 years ago

Note

smut with drew where it’s their first thanksgiving holiday with his family and reader but he can’t behave and he’s horny for everything she does like helping his mom in kitchen, doing the table, unpacking their stuff in his old room

so after days of not ( making babies ) since their arrival he starts to loose it and begs reader to accept to do it even though there’re in his parent’s home. so she accepts and like he waits like a good boy, she asks him what were his teenager high school sex fantasm to fulfill them ( sit on his face, 34+35, f*cking in front of his mirror ) ….

Happy Turkey Day

Pairing- Drew Starkey x fem!reader

Summary- see above. (Have combined this with another anon asking for one thing similiar).

Warnings- Drew being a horny mf, sex, oral, hair pulling, a lil manhandling, language. [18+]

Drew couldn’t keep his hands to himself, he was all over you. You had gotten a little uncomfortable at one point when he was pushing your hips against the bench and grinding himself into your ass, while his mother stood by the sink washing potatoes.

You had smacked his arm and told him to get out, you did not want to be caught dry humping your boyfriend in his childhood home. It was your first holiday with his family, you were not going to let Drew and his dick ruin it.

But Drew had other plans, he’d watched you all weekend. He couldn’t get his dick to go soft, it just seemed to grow harder and harder each time his eyes fell on you.

Whether you be mashing potatoes with his mum, cracking a cold beer for his dad or even looking at baby photos of him with his siblings. He could not get the image of your naked body out of his head.

So when thanksgiving was over and the only people left in the house was the two of you and his parents, he took that opportunity to kidnap you. Pulling you out of the living room before you could fight against him.

“What are you doing Drew?!” You whispered, he shook his head and threw you over his shoulder. His arms flexing against your thighs, you couldn’t deny that it turned you on being manhandled.

He gave your butt a slap as you bounced against his shoulder as he ran up the stairs. “DREW!” You screeched, playfully kicking your legs. His laugh echoes through the narrow hall, he kicked his bedroom door open and dropped you on the bed.

You looked a little dishevelled, but it only turned Drew on more, he locked the door and walked back over to you. The room was dark as the sun had set a few hours ago, he reached over and turned his bed side lamp on. Orange light illuminates the room.

Your eyes flicker over the walls, still covered in posters and photos of him and his school friends. His parents hadn’t changed his room one bit, schoolbooks still sat neatly on his desk and trophies littered the bookcase.

You were brought back to reality when Drew’s lips sucked at your neck, his hips pressing into your core. “Mhmm, missed the taste of you baby” he mumbled against your skin, his hand slipped under your dress. Skimming his fingers over your panties, you let out a whine when he moved them further up your body.

“Oh, so you do want me?” He joked, he let out a soft chuckle and pulled away from your neck. Staring down at you, he noticed your chest rising and falling harder as you stared up at him with your doe eyes, darkened with lust. “Yeah, I want to fuck you”.

You wrapped your legs around his waist and pushed yourself up on your forearms. Pressing your lips against his neck, you could feel him swallow harshly. “Baby” you whisper, nudging him with your nose wanting his undivided attention. “Tell me all your high school fantasies”.

He pulls away and you follow, moving yourself to straddle him. His hands find home on your waist, you slide yours up his chest and held onto his face. “Tell me” You urge, pressing soft kisses to his lips and cheeks.

“Really?” He questions, he’s not sure why he’s suddenly so nervous. It’s not like the both of you had never spoken about kinks etc. “well... I’ve always wanted to have sex in front of the mirror” he says, watching you intently.

Your lips quirk up into a grin, you can feel yourself getting wetter. “And?”.

“I want you to ride my face and 69” he finishes, biting the inside of his cheek. You nod your head, pressing your lips to his again, you deepen it. Grinding yourself against him, he grips your waist and moans into your open mouth.

“Well baby, you’re in for a treat” you purr, you push him down against the sheets and pull yourself to stand. Double checking the door is locked, you begin by pulling the side zip of your dress.

Letting the material pool around your feet, your tits sit bare and round. Practically begging for his mouth to assault them, you wore thin cotton panties that sat just under your belly button, accentuating your curves. “Shit” Drew groans, pressing the palm of his hands to his groin.

You slip out of your panties and step towards him, grabbing the waistband of his pants. He watches silently as you begin to undress him, his chest is heaving. He so badly wants to reach over and kiss you, but he’s letting you take control.

His cock springs free, leaking pre cum against the lower part of his stomach. His shirt has been tossed into the pile of clothes, you crawl up his body and leave soft kisses against his tanned skin. “Fuck, I’m so excited, I could bust right now” Drew laughs, you giggle against his skin.

His fingers run up and down your back, you reach his lips and give him a peck. His hand sliding up towards the back of your head, gripping the loose strands of hair it between his fingers. “Uh uh, I’m in charge baby” you grin, but you let him pull you against him.

Your lips mould together, chests pressed firmly together. Your wet folds grazing his cock has a moan slipping from your boyfriends’ lips. He grips the underneath of your thighs and uses all his strength to move you up his body, your knees sitting either side of his face.

“I’m in charge pretty girl, always”

With that he presses his warm tongue to your folds and you’re clenching around nothing, reaching up to grip the headboard of his childhood bed. “Oh god” you cry out, clamping your hand over your mouth. You needed to stay at quiet as possible, you really didn’t need his family hear their son fuck his girlfriend.

“God, isn’t between your legs sweetheart” he grins, massaging the apples of your cheeks. Pulling you down closer to him, nuzzling his face between your cunt. “O-0h!” You moan against your palm; you’re already starting to sweat.

“Stop!”

He pulls away from you and you quickly manoeuvre yourself, pussy against his face, your face inches from his cock. “Okay, get back to it”.

He chuckles, you can feel his breath against your cunt. He presses his tongue to your hole, moving in slow circular movements. You grip the base of his cock, kitten licking his tip. His tongue halts it’s movements, however you continue to lick his shaft until you swallow him into your mouth.

“Fuck, I’m always shocked you can deep throat” he breaths, his blunt nails dig into the flesh of your thighs. You hum against his cock, sending shivers down his spine.

Familiar warmth spreads through your belly, your toes curling as his tongue moves against your bundle of nerves. You rock your hips faster against his mouth, needing more friction. You don’t stop your movements on his cock though, reaching a hand around to cup his balls.

You can feel him tense, he’s grunting against your pussy. Pressing harder against your clit, slipping two fingers into your hole. You cry out around his cock, tears welling in your eyes as he assaults your pussy.

Drew is suddenly stopping when he feels the familiar flutter within your walls, gripping your hips, and moving you off him. “What?” You question, wiping the spit that’s on your chin. Sitting back on your feet, he grips you by the bicep and pulls you off the bed. “Jesus, you like manhandling me today”.

“I want to watch you cum”

You swallow harshly and nod, moving towards him. He takes a seat on his old desk chair, looking at you from the mirror that hangs on the back of his bedroom door. “Come here baby” he pats his thigh.

You turn so your back is facing him, slowly moving down until your hovering above his cock. He grips the base and pulls you down onto his cock, he bottoms out and the both of you let out a grunt of pleasure. You’re squeezing around him tightly. “Fucking hell” Drew grunts, helping you to move against him.

“Watch yourself” He orders, gripping your chin between his fingers. He pulls your face until your eyes land on the two of you connected. “Watch your pretty little face as I fuck you sweet girl”.

Your eyes lock in the mirror and you bite down on your lip, circling your hips against his cock. His hand slides from you hip to grasp onto your breast, thumbing your nipple. You desperately wanted to close your eyes and let your body enjoy the pleasure, but he pinches your nipple just as your eyes started to flutter closed. “Open”.

“shit, okay” you mewled, your legs began to wobble. Unable to continue squatting over his cock any longer. He held you by the waist and manoeuvred you both until you were down on all fours, breasts bouncing with each thrust of his hips.

He grips a handful of your hair and pulls your head up, making eye contact in the mirror once more. Mascara had started to smudge around your lower lashes, looking even more dishevelled than before. “Pretty girl” he moans, pressing his palm against your shoulder blades and giving your neck a squeeze.

He pushes himself deeper and deeper until his stomach is pressed firmly against your ass cheeks, you watch as his eyes roll back. “Oh fuck, fuck, fuck” You cry out, fingers scratching at the carpet underneath you, needing something to grip onto.

He reaches under your bodies, pressing his fingers to your clit. Your walls pulsate around him, sucking him in deeper if humanely possible. He tosses his head back and grinds himself relentlessly against you.

You cry out in pleasure, tears spilling from the corner of your eyes. “Drew, I-I” Your unable to finish your sentence, the breath is knocked out of you as he grips the corner of the desk and brings one of his legs up and plants his foot to the floor, he grips your hip with the other and rams himself into you.

His moans are drowned out by the cries and sobs coming from your lips, your body is shaking. Overstimulated, his cock touching that sweet spot inside of you no other man had before. “Come on baby girl, you can do it, take it, that’s a good girl”.

“shit, fuck, DREW!”

His dick is dripping with your juices, he’s no longer watching you in the mirror and instead looking down at where the two of you are connected. His teeth gnaw at his lower lip, you can see specs of blood. “I-I” You stutter, your orgasm rippling through your body.

He can feel the familiar build up, your legs shaking and pussy pulsating around him. His eyes meet yours in the mirror at the perfect moment. Watching your pretty little lips form an O and your eyes roll to the back of your head. “Drew!” you cry out, pressing your hips back into him.

A few more strokes and he was spilling inside of you, fingertips digging into the flesh of your hips. His cum leaking out of you and down your thigh, he pulls you up so your sat against him. Back to chest, he presses his lips to your shoulders and wraps his arms around you.

“Pretty, pretty girl. What did I do to deserve you?”

“What did I do to deserve you I think you mean?”

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