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prettypinkporkchop · 1 month ago

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hello

can you write paul x reader

reader is bella older sister

and she is the opposite of bella like she is extroverted and loves fashion and short skirts yk like this vibe (i imagine her like megan fox in jennifer's body) , paul imprinted on her so bad but in the first she wasn't interested in him but than she slowly likes him cuz he always try his best to get her

Heart shaped locket

You stare at Bella as if she is CRAZY! "Shopping? You?" Your eyebrow is raised to the heavens.

Yes, you've already graduated, and you're older than Bella. But let's be real, in this economy, you're staying with your dad, Charlie. Just until you can get on your feet.

Bella laughs and stares off through the kitchen. "Yeah.. yeah I just really have to.. get my mind off of Edward." She sighs.

You roll your eyes. "Bella, how many times do I have to repeat myself? He's ugly. He's weird. And you're still in high school! Let's turn the page, babe." You put a hand on your hip.

She shifts her feet before looking at you sternly. "You've never experienced love."

-----

"Child, can you take this to Billy's? Jake's got mono." You turn from the sink and see your dad on the table, getting ready to leave for work. He's holding a case of beer. "Don't get too close. Me and the man can't hang out until Jake is better." He scratches his beard.

"Okay, dad." You pat his shoulder and grab the case from his hands.

You get in your car and then drive to Billy's house. Gosh, you remember Jake and Bella playing around the mud and pissing you off.

You make it there and knock on the door. You take your top and cover your nose and mouth and then back up a bit.

The door opens, and there stands a smiling Billy. "Kid, you're fine. Uncover your mouth, I'm not sick." He laughs.

You laugh and drop your shirt back on your chest. "If you can't go to the store, then obviously it's serious enough for me to-"

Bella's truck speeds in, parking next to your car. She walks up to you guys. "Where's Jake?" She asks.

Billy looks at you and then her. "He's sick." He says.

Bella pushes past him. "Sorry."

Billy turns, calling her name. You grab the end of your hair and awkwardly play with it. Billy sighs and turns back to face you. Then, you hear whistling. You look over and see the Uley gang.

Next thing, Bella is walking over there.

Oh shit.

"BELLA MARIE!" You call out. You step on the wet grass, following her. Your headband starts falling off, and you stop to adjust it. "Damn it." You hiss.

You hear something from the guys, and you look up. Paul is fuming. You are in fear of Bellas safety so you just drop your headband and run over there.

"Y/n! Bella!" Sam says. "Get back." He warns.

You get next to Bella and grab her arm. But, Paul changes into a wolf. He stomps his feet and roars.

You fall back on the ground with Bella. You look at her. "Really?! Why are you always in shit?!"

Jacob runs out and turns as well. The two wolves fight into the woods. You sigh and stand up, adjusting your skirt and shirt.

"Take them to Emily's." Sam says.

"The wolf's out of the bag." Embry says.

----

"Oh, Emily!" You hug her as you and the three others walk inside the house.

She hugs you back, smiling. "Goodness, y/n. You're adorable as always." She giggles.

"Yeah, well, not feeling it. I just saw dudes shift into wolves, so that was interesting." You reply.

Bella walks in.

"Who's this?" Emily asks.

"Bella, my sister." You roll your eyes.

"Oh, you're the vampire girl." She says.

Vampires?!

"Damn, am I in a movie or something?" You groan and sit at the table where Embry and Jared sit.

The guys and Bella start talking, and you sit and listen. It all makes sense. Geez.

Jacob and Paul come inside, and Jacob tells Bella to go outside with him. Paul sits down, apologizes to Bella, and then eats a muffin.

You look over the guy, observing him. He doesn't see you.

"Does it hurt when you shift?" You ask.

He looks up at you and then stops moving. The muffin he grabbed in his hands fell and crumble on the table. You awkwardly stare back. Embry and Jared start laughing.

Sam walks in, snapping Paul out of it. He looks down at the table and then smiles. "Not too bad." He finally responds.

"It sounds like it hurts."

Sam looks over at Paul and then you.

"Yup, poor guy. He's now locked down." Jared says.

"Huh?" You ask.

"Ignore the boys." Emily says in your ear.

---- (The cullens come back - Eclipse)

You wake up, get dressed, and do your makeup. You're sitting in front of your vanity doing your hair when Bella barges in. You turn to the door and look at her. "What?" You ask.

"Paul wants to see you." She says.

"Uh huh." You reply, turning back to your mirror and doing your hair.

"Jacob says he imprinted on you." She continues.

"Really." You don't care.

"Just talk to the guy." Bella says.

"I don't take orders from girls who wear a flannel every day." You eye her outfit from your mirror.

"Y/n, really. The guy's gonna go insane."

"Fine." You sigh. "I'll text Emily and get his number."

And that, you did. You got his number. You messaged him, "y/n." That was it. But he texted back. You haven't read it yet. You're too busy with your friend, Sandra, shopping.

She holds up a pair of shoes. You think for a minute. "You had to think too long. It's a no." She sets them back down.

Your phone in your purse starts buzzing. You frantically get it and see that it's Paul. "Hang on, love." You tell your friend. You answer it. "Hey."

"Hey, y/n! Are you busy?" He asks.

"Yup! Shopping!"

"Oh, okay! I'll catch you another time." He says.

"No, give me the tea. You've got me all curious." You say.

"I was wondering if you wanted to hang out with me today?" He sounds shy.

Which is odd, considering you grew up around them because of your dad being friends with Billy and Harry. Fun fact! You used to help change Seth's diapers.

"Uh.." You look over at Sandra, who's smirking.

"Yes. I can. Where?" You ask.

"A date?" He asks.

"No! No date." You giggle.

"Oh uh.." He sounds awkward.

"We'll just hang out at the beach later." You say.

-----

Paul walks closer to you on the sand. "Hey, beautiful." He smiles.

"Hey." You smile back.

As he gets closer, you feel the warmth. Wolf shit. He opens his arms and wraps you up in a hug. You gently put your hands on his waist and softly pat.

"Alright." You pull away and look at him. "I know you imprinted on me, don't worry, I'm keeping my mouth shut like Bella. But just letting you know, I'm not interested. But I'm we can be friends!" You sit on the sand, crossing your legs.

He sits next to you and looks over your face. "Hmm, is there any way I can change your mind?" He touches your cheek. He moves his face close to yours.

You back away and giggle. "No, sir."

He bites his lip and looks out at the water. "You do realize how an imprint bond works, right?"

"Yup. Sam and Jacob have told all of it. So, I'm willing to be around you any time you need." You pat his bare back. The heat shocks your hand as it was just in the cool air.

You guys sit on the sand and talk about life. He's a very good guy! He's been misunderstood as a person by everyone. Deep down, his heart is big. You've told him about your life, and you two seem to favor each other. But a relationship is not where your head is right now.

----

You stumble on the sidewalk of the city, nearly falling because your heel got stuck on a rock. Paul is quick to grab your waist and hold you up. You look up at him, and his eyes look into yours with adoration.

"Thanks." You smile and hold onto his arm to keep yourself from falling.

"You're welcome, beautiful." He replies.

"Get a room." Jared groans.

Kim, who's on the other side of you, elbows him. You've gotten to know Kim, and she's pretty awesome! You both like the same stuff and hang out a bunch! She invited you to this date but told you Paul begged her to ask you to go.

"It's a nice night. Look at the moon!" Kim gasps.

You look up and see it's full and glowing. "Ooh! Perfect time to take selfies." You turn to her.

She smiles and grabs your arm. You two turn around, and she holds up her phone. You two pose in front of the moon and take pictures as it shines beautifully behind you guys.

Paul watches with his arms crossed. He's so mesmerized. You feel his eyes on you, but you're not paying it any attention. Jared touches his shoulder. Paul snaps out of it and looks at him.

----

You are listening to music and applying your face mask when your door opens. You jump up and look to see your dad.

"Oh, hey, dad." You say.

"Hey, child." He walks in the room and stands next to your vanity where you're sitting. He sets something down on the desk.

You look down and see a rose and a jewelery box. You look up at him, and he crosses his arms.

"Paul Lahote sent these." Charlie says.

You don't respond and look back down at the rose and box.

"I remember being in my twenties and being in love. I had that guy energy." He flexes his arm.

You start laughing and look back in the mirror. "Yeah, well, I'm not into him." You reply.

"Still focused on getting into that school?" He asks.

"Yup! Just one more week and I'll get my letter." You smile up at him.

"Well, if I know anything, you're smart and very driven. I'm always proud of you." He taps your vanity desk before walking out of your room.

You sigh and then wipe off your hands. You reach over to the box and open it up. You gasp at the ring and blink your eyes a few times. Your heart flutters at the fact that Paul knew what to pick for you. It's a touch of him and you. You put the ring on your middle finger.

-----

You sit at the restaurant with your group of girls. There's Chapen, who is a skater type girl, Lilly, she's a nerd, Sandra, she's the diva. She was a bitch cheerleader but kept her cool with you and Lilly. Plus, you were well liked in school. Everyone wanted to be like you. Every guy wanted you. You're used to that but never give in to them. All you want is to go to school, get your job, and then move out of your dad's.

"Please, he's so fine." Sandra looks back at the waiter.

Lilly groans and leans her head back. "Sandra, stop."

"No, you want to know fine? Embry Call." Chapen bites her burger and wiggles her eyebrows.

"Mid." You reply.

"Oh, but you've got Lahote pining for you." Sandra bumps her shoulder into yours.

"Y/n! Really?" Lilly sits up with a smile.

"Yeah, yeah, that's true." You shrug it off.

"God, he's so hot!" Lilly giggles.

----

You walk into Emily's house with Bella. Harry Clearwater just passed and shits going down with a redhead who wants to eat up your sister.

You notice Seth and Leah have shifted too. They both look good! Seth smiles when he sees you and hugs you.

Leah looks pissed off , and you don't blame her. The whole Sam shit plus losing her dad? Damn.

You walk to the dining table and sit down next to Quil, who you've never even met before!

"So, Quilister." You joke.

"I kind of fuck with that nickname." He nods.

Paul comes up behind you and grabs your shoulders. His hands slide down your arms. One hand stops at your elbow, and the other one moves to your hand with the ring he gave you. He touches your fingers. You instantly get goose bumps, and your face heats up.

He notices and leans down to your ear. "You're beautiful."

You gulp.

The rest of the night was fire! You ended up getting shit faced. You, Kim, Emily, and Billy got drunk drunk. Bella and Jacob left after the fire and you don't really care where they went lol.

You slump back on the couch and close your eyes, spinning.

"Y/n, you can stay here tonight if you want." Emily offers.

"No, I'm gonna go to my bed." You smile and then stand up. You're all wobbling.

Paul grabs your waist to help you steady. "I'll drive you." He says.

You press your back into him and look up at his face. "Ya know, I'd let you-", his hand goes over your mouth.

"Alright." He laughs awkwardly and walks you outside.

You sit in your seat and just stare up out of the window. Paul pulls into your house. Your dad is gone at work, and Bella's truck isn't there.

"Is your room upstairs?" Paul asks.

"Yeah, she sure is." You wink at him.

He gets out and pulls you out of your car. You steady yourself and then bend down to take off your shoes.

"They're hurting me." You say.

Paul moves your hands and bends down. "Put your hands on my shoulders." He says.

You do as told, and he takes off your shoes. Then, he lifts you bridal style and goes into the house. He walks you up into your room and gently places you on the bed.

"Paul, don't go." You give him puppy eyes.

"Baby, I have to. I need to protect you. I always will." He touches your cheek.

You rest your face in his hand and then nod your head.

-----

You sit in the bathtub and think about how good Paul was to you last night. You embarrassed yourself, but he was so kind and gentle. You catch yourself looking at the ring on your finger.

Three knocks on the door make you jump. "Yeah?" You call out.

"Hurry up. I have to pack shit to go stay with Alice." You hear Bella call out.

But you know the plan. Her and Edward are staying at the house while everyone else does some shit. Paul has asked you to stay on his land at his house, but you refused.

"Alright, sister. Just a second!" You hurry and finish yourself up and step out. You have a towel wrapped around you and you open the door.

She jumps back and looks at you. "Sorry for interrupting. Are you going to the reservation?" She walks in and grabs her toothbrush and shit.

"Nah." You reply.

"You have to. You're in danger." Bella looks at you.

"Pookie, I stay out of shit unlike you. She wants you, not me." You scoff.

"Well, it'll make me and Paul feel better." She says.

"Fine. I'll go."

----

Paul opens his front door and guides you inside. It's so manly in here. It's clean but like.. manly. It smells like Paul. It's dark with a single lamp on.

"Where do you want your bags?" He asks, holding them up.

"Uhm, the couch." You smile.

He nods his head and gently sets them down on the cushions. "You know you're sleeping in my bed tonight. I'll be out all night. This couch isn't comfortable. I won't let you sleep here." He raises an eyebrow at you.

"Nahhhh, I'm good. I brought my pillow and blanket. I'll make due." You smile.

"Whatever you say, princess." He looks at the kitchen and then smiles. "I got your favorite snacks in there and your favorite drinks. Just make yourself at home." He steps closer to you. "And if you need anything, say my name." He says softly.

You nod your head and blush again. Noooo, why does he keep doing this?!

That night on the couch, you were tossing and turning. You couldn't get comfortable and just kept going back on your phone to watch makeup tutorials. But now you're just too tired. You give up and go into Paul's room.

You lay down on his bed and are so shocked at how comfortable and cloudy it is! You lay your head down on a pillow. Oh gosh, it smells like him. But you feel something underneath you. You pull it out and look. It's a silver necklace with a heart locket. You open the locket, and it has your first initial and a 'P'. You turn on your back and clutch it in your hand.

You jump up from a nightmare of being bitten by Miss Redhead. You're breathing hard and then get out of bed. You go into the living room and see a peaceful sleeping Paul. You gently touch his shoulder. "Paul?"

He groans and opens his eyes before sitting up. "Hey, beautiful. You okay?" He looks over you. His eyes stop at your check and you look down. The necklace.

"Yeah, just surprised you're home. I had a nightmare." You sigh.

He smiles and then pulls you on him. He holds you tightly, and it takes you back for a minute. You end up settling on his chest and feel his body on yours. You feel in the moment and close your eyes in feeling of peace and safety.

"I won't be here long. We have to go to battle." He rubs your back.

You look up at his face. "Will you be okay?"

He smiles and nods his head. "I always am. I'm Paul Lahote." He laughs.

Your eyes move from his and to his lips. He notices and starts to lean in. You back away and then stand up. "Sorry, uh." You chuckle.

"Hey, it's okay." His eyes scan you.

----

You sit on his bed, painting your nails, waiting for him to come back. Bella doesn't have her phone, but you know she's in the snow with Edward.

You're nervous as shit! You're starting to realize the more you hang out with Paul and see how sweet he is, you're falling.

You know if he's alive, he promised to be home yesterday or tonight. He didn't come yesterday. You're freaking out. You've been texting and calling Kim and Emily.

You sit back and let your nails dry. You turn on a murder mystery video on his TV. Finally, your phone rings, and you jump up, knocking your nail polish all over the bed. "Fuck!" You answer your phone. "Emily?"

"Everyone is at Billy's. Everyone is safe. Jake got hurt, but stay there, Paul will be there shortly." She says all bubbly.

Your heart skips, and you want to scream of happiness! Paul is okay and coming back. Oh yay, Bella is, too... and Edward.

You clean up all of your nail polish and wipe it down with your nail polish remover. You run to his washer and throw it in there, replacing his blanket with yours. Yeah, it's girly, but it's okay!

The door opens, and you quickly go in there. Paul.

You watch as he smiles at the ground, breathing. "It smells like you and rubbing alcohol." He finally looks up and laughs.

You squeal and jump on him. He holds onto you, chuckling and burying his face in your shoulder. You run your hands through his hair, softly gripping onto it.

"Miss me?" He asks.

"Yes." You breathe out. "Thank you for coming back." You catch yourself saying that, and you blush. He sets you down and looks at you, grabbing your face. "I spilled nail polish on your blanket. It got it off but it's in the washin-"

Paul's lips press on yours, shutting you up. You crumble in his touch and give in, kissing back. One hand grabs your waist, and the other touches the necklace he left for you. His fingers slightly graze on your collarbone. He pulls back, and you don't want him to stop. You grab his neck, pulling him down for more. He grabs your bottom to lift you up. You wrap your legs around his waist and he carries you into his bedroom.

#twilight #embry call #jared cameron #jacob black #paul lahote #sam uley #seth clearwater #twilight wolfpack #leah clearwater #quil ateara #paul lahote x reader

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swiftiethatlovesf1 · 3 months ago

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Toto Wolff with wife reader. He's getting jealous because of the fictional character and she finds it ridiculous. Up to you how it went. Thanks!! :))

The unexpected embrace from the F1 community took you by surprise. When you first entered Toto's world, you were prepared for whispers, raised eyebrows, and even a bit of backlash. After all, you were younger, and Toto was an established figure in the sport, a powerhouse in every sense. The age gap was an obvious point of conflict for some, but you were ready to face it all for Toto and your relationship. What you didn’t anticipate was how quickly the fans would fall in love with you.

Your social media accounts started to blow up. What began as a trickle of followers turned into an avalanche of admiration. Edits of you, fan pages dedicated to your every move, and endless comments flooding your posts with praise and adoration. They adored your presence at the races, your interactions with the drivers, and the way you seemed to brighten up the paddock. Some even started calling you the "Mother of the Paddock."

But it didn’t stop there. The fan obsession grew. People started making marriage proposals in the comments of your posts, “Marry me instead!” and “If Toto ever slips up, I’m here!” were regular occurrences. Accounts popped up dedicated to every aspect of your life, dissecting your fashion choices, your favourite hobbies, and your relationship with Toto. They’d dubbed you the “F1 Sweetheart,” and your charm was infectious.

Toto, however, wasn’t as thrilled as you. Of course, he was happy that you were accepted, and that people loved you. But as the fan obsession grew, so did his discomfort. It wasn’t the attention that bothered him—it was how much people loved you. After all, you were his.

One evening, as you were scrolling through your phone, giggling at the latest fan-made meme, Toto walked into the room, his brow furrowed in a way you recognized all too well.

"What's so funny?" he asked, trying to sound casual, but you could hear the tension in his voice.

"Oh, just another silly meme someone made of us," you said, holding your phone up to show him. "Look, they’ve photoshopped us as the royal couple of F1."

He barely glanced at it before sitting down beside you, his arm possessively wrapping around your waist. "Hmm," was all he muttered, his jaw clenched slightly.

You put your phone down and turned to him, immediately sensing something was off. "Toto, what’s wrong?"

He sighed, rubbing a hand over his face before meeting your gaze. "It’s just… all this attention on you. I’m happy that they like you, but it’s… it’s a bit much, don’t you think? All these people asking you to marry them, making accounts dedicated to you— it’s like they forget that you’re mine."

You couldn’t help but smile at his jealousy. "Toto, you’re not seriously jealous of a bunch of fans, are you?"

He looked at you, his eyes a mix of frustration and vulnerability. "Maybe I am. It’s just— you’re everything to me. I don’t like the idea of sharing you with the world, of other people thinking they can just—"

You interrupted him with a soft kiss, your hand gently cupping his cheek. "Toto, listen to me. I’m yours. I always have been, and I always will be. No amount of fan attention or silly comments is going to change that."

He sighed, the tension in his shoulders easing slightly as he leaned into your touch. "I know. I just… I want to keep you all to myself."

You chuckled, pressing your forehead against his. "You do realize how ridiculous you sound, right? We’re married. I’m literally wearing your ring."

His lips twitched into a smile, and he pulled you closer, burying his face in your hair. "I guess I just can’t help it. You’re so perfect, and sometimes I still can’t believe you’re mine."

You wrapped your arms around his neck, holding him close. "And I’m not going anywhere. So, how about you stop worrying about the fans and start focusing on the fact that you have me all to yourself, right here, right now."

Toto pulled back just enough to look into your eyes, his expression softening as he finally let go of his jealousy. "You’re right. I’m sorry, it’s just… I love you so much. Sometimes it’s overwhelming."

You smiled, brushing a strand of hair from his forehead. "I love you too, Toto. More than anything."

He leaned in, capturing your lips in a tender, passionate kiss that made your heart flutter. When he pulled away, there was a new determination in his eyes. "I’ll try to be better about this. But just know, I’m always going to be a little possessive when it comes to you."

You laughed, giving him one last peck on the lips. "As long as you remember that I’m yours and yours alone, I think I can live with that."

He smiled, his hand gently caressing your cheek. "Deal."

#f1 #f1 imagine #f1 x reader #formula 1 #toto wolff #toto wolff imagine #toto wolff x reader #toto wolff x y/n

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multifariousqueer · 1 year ago

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Hello girl! how are you? doing well?

Can I request a E 42 yandere miles X reader? Am yes, E 42 reader is dead, omg how original XD

But the E 42 reader had this "church girl" or "flower girl" innocent type persona. And when E 1610 reader arrived with miles, she is a loud, cusses out a lot and has a hammer with her at all times.

E 42 miles sees her and while stunned to see such drastic personality change, he still sees his beloved in her and wants to keep her in his world and in his life? Add flashbacks if ya like! you can change it if you want! whatever makes it be awesome! luv you! <3

Hey, love!! I can totally do this

Suerte- Miles G x Reader

A/n: I hope y’all enjoy this!!

Warnings: strong language, angst, suggestiveness, reader being a spider person, descriptions of blood and yandere behavior, kidnapping, lmk if I missed anymore

You were falling off of a building, it seemed your screams would never end as you looked up into the endless sky waiting for someone, anyone to save you. Miles watched as he tried to run and save you but by then it was too late, the sound of your skull hitting the pavement and the crimson blood that flowed from your nose was enough to indicate that you were gone and there was no saving you. Miles cradled your softer skull as the police and ambulance arrived.

Suddenly, Miles woke up in a cold sweat. It was Sunday now, and he had to get ready for church the only reason he was going was because you convinced him too

You managed to convince Miles to do just about anything; he just couldn’t say no to your adorable face and he hated disappointing you. You two seemed like an odd couple at first, with Miles being tough, cold and closed off whereas you were bright, happy, innocent and it seemed like you could do no wrong. You went to church every Sunday, you prayed all the time, you helped everyone and everything and Miles fell for your soft innocence and your warmth. He fell for your simplicity, your poise, your patience and how you felt like a piece of heaven.

The day he lost you was the day he lost himself. Miles was never the same after you left; he closed himself off completely and adopted the Prowler moniker. He felt like he failed you and that you would be so dissapointed if you saw him now. Miles would have flashbacks to you telling him how much you loved him and how you would always love him in every universe, so he decided to pray and beg God for you back and eventually, he got that.

“MILES WHERE THE FLYING FUCK ARE WE??” you shouted

“I’M TRYING TO FIGURE THAT OUT, Y/N” Miles shouted back

You and your Miles were best friends since you both came to Visions. He found out you had powers the same as him and you two clicked immediately. It seemed you two were fated to be together; same music taste, fashion choices and morals its just you were a bit more harsh than him

“I think we’re home?” Miles questioned

“I don’t remember Brooklyn looking this shitty” you said

“It’s just dark, come on, we can go to my house. My mom loves you” you said

Mrs. Morales loved you because not only were you quick on your feet, you also made Miles happy and you made a great first impression. She thought you were exactly like Miles, just more abrasive and she thought you were sweet.

You went to Miles room and it looked different, almost more grown. Your spider-sense went off and just as you went to tell Miles, Rio was there and greeting him. She looked at you like she had seen a ghost, tears spilling from her...green eyes??

“Y/n?” she whispered

“Yeah? Hi Mrs. Morales” you went, going to give her a hug which she reciprocated just more eagerly

“Oh Mija, I thought you were dead. Gracias Dios, you answered my prayers” she said, sobbing and looking up at the sky

Her and Miles had a conversation and you both revealed your identities in which she was indifferent about. Suddenly, the door opened to reveal an Uncle Aaron.

He saw you and his eyes went wide. He stalked closer to you before grabbing your shoulders and shaking his head

“Is it really you, y/n?” he said

“uhh yeah last time I checked” you chuckled, grabbing your body as a joke

“Where did you go? How are you here?” he asked in disbelief

“Well interesting story actually, we used something called our legs and walked here” you joked, usually Aaron could appreciate your humor because it was one of the things he told Miles before he died

“Miles, you won’t find another girl like her. Girls like y/n don’t come around like that so I’d advise you to keep her"

“Got it” Miles would say

It was like you were looking into a portal of dead people, your entire body clenched when his gaze suddenly went cold.

He lead Miles and you to the roof when suddenly, you felt a strong stinging in your neck and just as you were about to hit the floor, a strong pair of arms grabbed you and you heard voices

“She’s not your, y/n man. She’s meaner”

“I don’t care"

You awoke with a splitting headache on a couch. Your limbs were handcuffed together and it was dark; your eyes immediately went to search for your Miles when you saw him tied to a bag

“He won’t be up for a bit, hes out cold. Maybe we can keep him that way” a voice said

“He’s not the only one who’s gonna be out cold. Who the fuck are you and what do you want?” you snapped

“Hm. So hostile, my Y/n would never speak like that” a man said approaching you

“Dawg are you smoking crack? Speed? Bath Salts? Because you gotta be fucked up if you think-“ you started

“la muchacha sucia(dirty girl), I should’ve put that gag on you while you were out” he said, taking off his mask to reveal your boyfriend just more gaunt

“Listen here you Rick and Morty knockoff, if you try that, I will bite your finger off, comprende?” you said

“Si. Eres muy bonita pero tu boca es tan asquerosa. I can tell you aren’t from here” he smirked

“Just so you know, just because you called me pretty doesn’t mean I won’t crush your nuts the second I get out of these chains. Listen, your knockoff prowler suit doesn’t scare me and neither do these chains, I could break out right now but I’m intrigued” you said

You heard groaning and saw your Miles move

“MILES” you screamed into the other Miles’ ear

“Y/N. GET AWAY FROM HER” your Miles shouted

The other Miles ignored him but he grabbed your throat and forced you to look up at him

“It’s not a knockoff mami and unless you want to find out just how powerful this suit can be, I suggest you pipe down. It’s gonna take a bit of work, maybe force” he tightened his grip at force, causing your eyes to water and your tongue to come out

“But I think I can make it work. You may not be exactly like her, but you’ll be close enough” Miles said, lowly

If the circumstances weren’t what they were, Miles would’ve found your position hot, you were tied up, tongue hanging out a bit and your eyes looked so pretty; in his mind, you were giving him the “fuck me” eyes but in reality, you were using this as a way to escape

The idea of playing along until he got his wish came to mind but you realized this was deeper than that, he wanted you in every form and if it wasn’t you, what’s to stop him from taking another version of you that may accidentally come by.

“What happened, mami? You had so much to say, say it.” Miles taunted, hand still flush against your throat

“Yeah its kinda hard when you’re choking the life outta me” you said

He took his hand off your throat and you coughed.

“Dude just leave her alone, okay? You can have me, kill me just please let her go” your Miles said, his voice faltering at the end

“Oh but where’s the fun in that? Plus cabron, I don’t want you at all, its not about you. It’s about her and her making a promise

“What promise did I make?” you asked

Miles got a flashback of you laying next to him, playing with his braids and giggling

“I’ll love you in every universe, Miles Morales” you said sweetly

Miles teared up and explained this to you

“Okay well bud, I’m not her and in a way, I do love you in every universe, I love my Miles but” you said before he slammed his fist next to you, causing you to yelp

“I am your Miles, mi amor. At least, I will be. I’m never letting you go again” he said close to your face, hovering above your lips before getting up and striding over to your Miles

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daughterofyore · 2 years ago

Text

{{Drabble}} George and his anxiety.

wc;; 661

summary;; George has anxiety about an upcoming speech and you calm him down.

contents;; fluff, sweet nothings, loving caresses, stressed George and signs of mania.

a/n;; although I do write smut mainly I wanted to start filling up my repertoire of work. So, I decided to add in a very small lil drabble for ‘just George’. :)

!!W!!;; none really, signs of his mania? (Shaking hand) and anxiety.

George, sweet loveable George. He sat in the upholstered leather chair at the large mahogany desk in his study, his thumb and index finger pinching the bridge of his nose. He didn’t raise his eyes to meet yours, he didn’t even glance up as you walked into the study. Your dress hissed along the ground, it’s brilliant floral design cascading down the sides, bedecked with jewels and your hair in a very fashionable up-do. A very classic Georgian era outfit.

You approached his desk, placing a gentle hand on his back between his shoulder blades. “What troubles you dearest?” You question him softly, beginning to rub small circles on his back. He looked up at you, brows scrunched together and eyes glassy. Had he been crying?

“I am… frustrated my dear.” He slapped a hand on top of papers, a quill lay discarded to the right. Ink leaked along the table, threatening to spill off the edge and onto the expensive carpets below. “I have to ready a speech for government. Make my presence known and make sure they remember me.” He scoffed incredulously, shaking his head as if it was hard to believe. “Yet, my nerves will not settle. I am beginning to panic and-“ you noticed his hand began to shake, the tell tale sign of an episode threatening to take hold of him. You squatted down at his side, gently placing a hand on his knee, demanding his unwavering attention.

“My love, I will help you be the best you can be. I know you will do excellently for there is nothing you can’t do.” A small smile tugs at your lips and his quiver in response, fighting back a wave of emotions. “You will be amazing, an excellent king and a wonderful speaker. You need not worry about how they perceive you. You are George, King of the United Kingdom’s.” You stood, taking his face in your hands. Cupping his cheeks and whispering, “And you are my husband.” His shoulders slumped and he stood, now towering over you. He held your gaze, smiling.

“My beautiful wife.” He brushed his fingers along your cheek, they no longer shook. “What would I ever do without you?” His voice broke a bit, but he held firm in not allowing tears to fall. You reached up and squeezed his hand.

“I’m sure you would be fine, I am merely a help.” He shook his head, making a disgusted face.

“You are absolutely not! Yes, you may help me but you are so much more. You are my wife, my love, the mother of my children you-“ He sighed, wrapping his arms around your waist and pulling you to be flush with his front. “You are everything and more. Venus could not compare to your divinity.” You hid your face in his chest, trying to conceal the blush creeping along your face.

“Come darling, let’s go and get some tea to settle ourselves.” You spoke into his chest and he chuckled at your shyness, tenderly grasping your shoulders and pushing you back so that he may see you.

“I love it when you blush. You look so cute.” He smirked, pressing a kiss to your forehead and taking your hand in his. He began to walk towards the parlour. He told Reynolds to bring you tea and confectioneries, once he had vanished down the hall and around a corner George spun to you and scooped you into his arms. He began to rush down the hall, eliciting screams and giggles of joy from you.

He pushed the door open with his foot and lay back on a chaise longue, placing you on top of him. He began to trace lazy circles over your stomach once you were both settled. His other hand playing with your fingers. Before the servants knocked on the door with the tea he whispered into your ear, his breath hot and titillating.

“I love you, my beautiful wife.”

#bridgerton #bridgerton series #bridgerton smut #bridgerton spoilers #king george bridgerton #king george iii #king george x f!reader #king george x reader #queen charlotte #bridgerton fanfiction #king George drabble #bridgerton x female reader #bridgerton fic #bridgerton men #bridgerton x reader #bridgerton family

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lookinghalfacorpse · 7 months ago

Note

Itwall c!doomsday trio prompt ideas: 1)Techno plays dress-up with steve and Dream and Phil are the judges or 2) Techno convinces Dream to play dress-up and they go show Technos masterpiece off to Phil

"Philza Minecraft."

"Yeah, mate?" Philza was lounged on the couch, his slippered feet propped on an ottoman close to the fireplace. Despite Technoblade's gameshow-host-esque tone, Phil's eyes stayed locked on the book in his lap. A hound's furry white head also occupied his lap, unbothered by the book cover on his forehead, and a crow was nestled carefully at his thighs. This old man wasn't going anywhere.

But Techno still had to try.

"Philza Minecraft!" He tried again, "If I may have the honor of your eyes upon my great creation."

"Oh!" Phil tore himself from the page, keeping a finger on his spot. "Great creation. Yes. Show me."

"You see, Phil," He extended an arm dramatically, summoning his best showmanship, "I am a man of many talents--"

"Mm-hmm--"

"I am a man of many talents, Philza, and while I'm most often concerned with the art of war, I am, of late, involved in the war of art. The battles of self-expression. The eternal struggle to create something beautiful. Philza Minecraft," he said, "I am entering the world of fashion."

"You always do dress very well, mate."

"I-- Well-- Thank you, Phil, thank you. I appreciate your immediate recognition of my genius. But fashion also means knowing how to dress more than just my peak-performance body. My perfect musculature. My piglin-ousity"

Philza nodded sagely.

"And you denied me an opportunity to play dress up earlier, so I am now taking back my right to express myself. My artistry. Through fashion. I present to you: Dream!"

Dream walked out through the shadow of the doorway, the dim light of the fireplace slowly illuminating the absolute mess that he was dressed in. He was dressed, exclusively, in Techno's clothing. Techno's crown hung limply at his gaunt shoulders, while the lacy white shirt was slowly sliding down his torso and revealing the skin all the way down at his ribcage. The pants, too, appeared to be sliding, ready to cascade into the oversized boots.

Dream had a massive grin on his face.

The crow fluttered away and the hound whined as Philza hopped to his feet.

"Nope! Nope!" Philza said, though he was fighting laughter, "No, no, no," He rushed over to Dream and gathered fistfuls of fabric in his hands, trying to pull it all up and keep the young man covered. "I told you it wouldn't fit! Lad, this is all gonna fall off you in three seconds."

Dream's face was red, but his smile remained. Despite Phil's efforts, the clothes had no chance of staying on. He felt the pants drop completely, though the length of the shirt kept him partially covered. A few weeks ago, he was embarrassed of his scarred skin, but there was nothing left to hide from either Techno or Phil anymore. "You bathed me earlier today, Phil--"

"We are in the living room! The windows are open! We don't get naked in the living room with the windows open! Mr. war-of-art doesn't know how to measure his models, eh?"

Techno stood with his arms across his chest, looking awfully proud of himself. "I think it's his best look yet."

Phil sighed, his shoulders falling as he realized how badly he was failing to preserve Dream's decency. Yet, there Dream was, smiling, looking absolutely dwarfed in Techno's clothes and almost half-naked as gravity took its toll. He had some color to his face, and his eyes were shining. He looked, for the first time in a long time, like he was having fun.

"Credit where it's due, mate."

#itwall #itwall extra scenes #in the wild all lessons last #drabbles #cdoomsdaytrio #ty for this prompt it was great :)#dreblr #asks

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firegirl888101 · 3 months ago

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If I was reader in the insatiable madness series I’d have a “let’s try it!” Day once a week with the harbingers, when it comes to games tho

“Let’s try Mario cart!”

“Let’s try Fortnite”

“Let’s try Dress to Impress!”

I’d only do this once a week bc I know it would take me a week to recover from their bs😭 on a serious note, I can see Childe and Scara getting sooo competitive with Dress to Impress, like they are ready to rip each other’s throats out bc “YOU COPIED ME”. Reader has to sit near them tho bc they have to explain the categories and show them examples😭😭😭 the other harbingers kinda love it bc it forces reader to explain stuff to them

Hahah I love this idea!

Y/N most likely wouldn't suggest the idea of a weekly game night because of the amount of stress it would bring for them. Maybe after introducing them to Among Us they'd slip up and reveal that there are hundreds of different games leading to one of the Harbingers suggesting the idea.

'One of the Harbingers'? What am I talking about, of course it's Childe who would suggest such a thing. He'd probably be feeling homesick and ask further to try and create a small routine between you and the group. With Pulcinella's help, they'd eventually convince you to hold the game night once every week.

Mario Kart is waaaay too competitive for the Harbingers to try. I really don't recommend playing it or even suggesting it when they're nearby. Just trust me. If you think streamers punching their tables and screaming in anger at a loss is bad, you haven't seen the Harbinger's rage. It doesn't matter which one you look at, they're all sore losers. The ones who are better at hiding it are Pierro, Pulcinella and surprisingly Childe. <- Columbina and Capitano are also better at hiding it, however, they're not good at preventing snappy replies if another Harbinger talks to them.

Dealing with a passive aggressive and possibly aggro Harbinger (ahem, Scaramouche) is not something you should voluntarily do. That's why I suggest not bringing up the game at all. If you decide to introduce the game, I recommend only doing easy levels such as Moo Moo Meadow. Never, under any circumstance, allow them to play Rainbow Road. Also Sandrone and Scaramouche are really good at the game, Sandrone because she's good at making the perfect cart for her character and Scaramouche because he's good at racing no matter what cart combo he picks.

I personally don't like Fortnite, and Y/N wouldn't either because of uhh... y'know. But, I can see Capitano and Childe genuinely bonding whilst playing the game together. I don't know if it's against the rules to cross team in Fortnite, but whether that rule exists or not they'd do it anyway since they don't care. Capitano always wins if it's only them two left in the game, if it's not only them two, Childe either dies by not paying attention to his surroundings enough or Capitano falls from fall damage because he forgets that it's a thing.

I can't help but think about that fanmade Fatui trailer where they're fighting eachother and Pantalone has the double guns. Just for the beautiful existence of this anime short, I'm going to say Pantalone is also good at the game because he has god tier aim. Imagine what else he could do with that aim... Now's not the time, NEXT GAME:

Dress to Impress or Fashion Frenzy (my childhood) would be so funny. Since Y/N probably wouldn't trust the Harbingers in a public Roblox server, they'd have to buy a private server for all the Harbingers to use. Signora is dominating the rest of the Harbingers in this game, I think she'd have the most wins and often has to help the others find things in the game. Somehow she's memorised the entire map and knows where everything is after only a few rounds...

Anyway, the women of the Harbingers would slay this game so hard. The men however... they're questionable to say the least. At first, they likely struggle and create abhorrent outfits that land them the lowest on the scoreboard but gradually they begin to make outfits that the average person would wear. Pantalone would be an exception to this group, he'd most likely grasp the concept the quickest. This is because of how many clothes he's seen as a rich businessman. He's shopped for clothes for the Tsaritsa before, so he's probably seen some elegant items of clothing and doesn't need to rely on his imagination much. As long as he remembers what they look like, he'll score reasonably high, when the other men learn, he'll gradually go lower on the leaderboard due to him not being too passionate about the game. He's a one-trick pony, if you will.

Y/N would get so tired of having to Google the categories and show reference images to the Harbingers every single time they play the game. If Dress to Impress is a popular game and the Harbingers want to play it every game night, Y/N would start to make moodboards of each category and shove them in the Harbingers face so they can leave them alone. It's not like they want to help the Harbingers, but there is literally nothing else they can do, and they don't feel like dying from boredom yet.

Pierro doesn't want to engage in these game nights because he finds them a waste of time and stays in Y/N's office to do work. Meanwhile, Dottore likes the television a lot more so he rarely takes part. If he does take part, he enjoys it but would rather do something else. Arlecchino also wouldn't be the biggest fan of the game nights, but it would remind her of taking care of the children in the House of Hearth so she'd gradually open up to like it more than she should in her opinion.

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randombush3 · 7 months ago

Text

a sense of coming home

ona batlle x reader

summary: part two of this! ona and you are (frustratingly) still just friends

words: 6.5k (i have NO idea why i waffle so much but lets pls allow it)

warnings: there's like five secs of smut at the end

notes: this has been the most self-indulgent fic i've written because this is how i met my gf and so i am glad to show you a nice happy ending

again, the quote is from 'this side of paradise' (said gf's fav book - i don't recommend however because the protagonist is a twat)

also i didn't proofread bc i am exhausted and i am hungover and i am very ready to go to sleep (#globetrotting is not for the weak) x

There is something difficult about forcing oneself back to their toxic roots. Ona discovers as such as she presses her body into a temple of meaningless sex, but she does so because she is a driven person. Ona is determined to get over you, once and for all, except she’d quite like to stay friends (hence why she agreed when asked). She also thinks it would expose her to fall out because her feelings shouldn’t have existed anyway, so she technically shouldn’t be heartbroken?

Anyway, Ona rampages through Manchester! They appreciate her accent – some even ask her to speak to them in Spanish when she is three fingers deep inside of them, to which she obliges with little fanfare – and it isn’t like the city lacks queer women. It is a super solid way to keep her busy, to tear her attention from hungrily checking your Instagram whenever possible.

It’s also what lands her with coronavirus. She’s embarrassed to admit just how many people she has come into contact with when the club doctors ask her questions over the phone.

You send her a lovely message after hearing she is yet another fallen soldier.

Ona is at home, isolating, and you are apparently trapped in Spain, unable to get into Italy. You haven’t quite made it to your parents’ house since your flight was supposed to depart from Madrid. “How come you’re not on the phone to one of your ‘connections’?” Ona asks suspiciously, wondering why this call has lasted longer than ten minutes. “Surely someone knows someone else and they can get you back home.”

“I’m hardly out of my depth in my own country,” you remind her with a twinging sigh, pained that she has suppressed all memories of your childhood. “It’s not like I don’t speak Spanish.”

“Didn’t you get rid of it in your head to make space for Italian and English? Oh, and French too, right? That’s where the fashion weeks are.”

You laugh at her pride for knowing something about your job, but it is not to ridicule her. “I am speaking to you, aren’t I?”

“In Catalan,” she points out. “Forget Spanish, but don’t forget Catalan.”

“I can’t. It’s the language everyone uses to tell me about how fucked you’ve been lately.” You take in a deep breath, uncomfortable with Ona’s silence but knowing your piece needs to be said. “Are you aware of what happened a few months ago? Why I missed the wedding?” One of your friends met her dream man and he whisked her off to Menorca for a small ceremony. Only the people she loved the most were invited, which included your childhood friend group. “We were in New York, a whole bunch of us. It was late but the show had been a big deal so we went out to celebrate, and… these ‘friends’, these people, they aren’t the same as you and me. Most of them are English, you know, and they come from very fancy schools where addiction is normal. Two of them ended up in the hospital that night – the bag hadn’t even made it round to me by the time they’d dropped. I know it seems far-fetched, but all I’m trying to say is that addiction has consequences. Bad consequences.”

“So you’re not on my side?” Ona isn’t taking this too seriously. A few people have joked about her questionable new hobby, but no one has made it seem so dire that they have needed to get you involved. You who, of course, Ona will listen to.

“I am always on your side.”

That is her main take-away from the conversation, Ona chooses, when it ends an hour later. She swoons, meaning the last twenty women have been a waste of time, but she also tortures herself into ignoring the potential problem. Being a sex addict would be embarrassing, so she won’t be.

Though your subtle shaming for her abundance of quick-fix flings is hypocritical, Ona would also hate for you to see her that way. You can avoid commitment all you like, but she is determined to be different to prove to you that she is a viable candidate, should you wish to stop stringing her along. It’s probably toxic; it probably means that you are both clinging onto a friendship that should either end or be labelled something else. It probably is the push and pull that has kept you interested, Ona thinks, because she knows that you like the chase.

However, as much as she’d like to be freed of whatever game she is caught up in, she can’t seem to let you go like that.

…

The next time Ona and you have a proper conversation about something other than how your love lives have been stunted or how people back home are not as successful as the two of you is when most of the restrictions have been lifted.

You waited out the pandemic in Vilassar de Mar, much to your annoyance, but now that you can travel again, the first person on your mind to visit is your childhood best friend. You’re not as close as you used to be, having drifted further during even more years apart, but it does not dull your love for her, nor hers for you.

Ona has changed her mind about Manchester and is forcing herself to like it. It works enough for a visit from you to be the last thing on her mind, and so she slows her response time down until the next arranged date to see each other in person is all set for the summer before the Euros in England.

You’re not quite home but you are in the country, and, with the pre-Euros camp in two days, Ona is spending the final few hours of calm left before the storm in the comforting presence of her mum and dad.

And… you, apparently.

“You weren’t supposed to be here yet,” is Ona’s greeting when she opens the front door.

Your smile is wide and genuine, and you are holding a gift bag in one hand. There is a nice bottle of wine in the other. “Not even an ‘hola’?” When no reply comes, you swallow the emotions that have arisen; the ones that are maybe, just a little bit to do with how soft Ona looks with her hair down. And the slope of her jaw. And the ghosts of defined biceps that bulge even when she isn’t flexing her arms. “I’m dropping by to see your parents. I thought you were in Barcelona with your footballer friends.”

“You visit my parents?” asks Ona curiously.

“Of course.”

With that, you side-step her and call out to her mother, announcing both your arrival and your desire to hand them their gifts. Dinner is just about to be served, and Ona is soon tasked with setting another place at the table for you as though the last ten years had never happened and your friendship hadn’t lost its innocence.

Maybe it would be better for Ona to not know what it feels like to kiss you, to touch you, to – dare she think it – love you. It would certainly make things less painful, and would have saved her from catching at least one illness and spending a good amount of money on Ubers to escape from random apartments. It would make it easier to listen to you talk about your life in Milan, where you seem to exist in a bubble of incredibly attractive people who are desperate to hold hands and form a raft.

“Modelling can be brutal,” you agree, nodding at Ona’s father as you follow on from his concerns about your career. He voices them regularly; whenever you see him. Ona realises you have spent a lot of time with her parents without her. “It gets quite competitive between the girls so I’ve been somewhat avoiding them. They’ve brought in someone new, scouted from Germany, I think, and I’m a little worried that I’ll have to switch agencies if they start prioritising her.” You glance at Ona, wanting to know if she is listening, hoping she is. You wish that she were as good at suppressing her feelings as you are. You wish she didn’t look at you like you hung the moon, because you know that you have to tell her you have hung it for someone else. “I’d move tomorrow, to be honest, but I’ve started seeing this guy and he’s convincing me to stay in Milan.”

“The minute he is your boyfriend, you bring him here,” commands Ona’s mother in a tone she hasn’t yet used on her actual daughter (said daughter has never mentioned anyone before). “Show us a picture of him! Is he a model like you?”

He is, and if Ona holds her fork tighter after she sees the photo you pull up, that is her business. You secretly take in her clenched jaw and furrowed eyebrows, and this might be the worst thing you have ever had to do. To see her so defeated, so hopeless, is upsetting, especially since you are harbouring the same feelings. However, you are able to admit when it is time to throw the towel in, and you can no longer live like this.

Ona is too perfect for you. She is driven, hard-working, and funny. She likes to nutmeg little children on the street, and she likes to buy them an ice-cream if they slip a goal past her, slotting the flat footballs into imaginary nets and celebrating as though they have just won the Champions League. She knows a lot, more than she thinks she does. She cares about people, but sometimes it manifests in anger, in frustration.

Any aspect of her is an aspect that you could love, and that is reason enough not to. Because how can you allow yourself to taint such perfection?

But, in this unspoken rejection, the compliment is obscured from the recipient’s view. All Ona sees when you gush about how he buys you flowers and takes you out to dinner, is a burning, bright question. It flashes red and yellow, both as a warning and cry for attention. How can she compete if you don’t even recognise her as a competitor?

…

“--And then they proceeded to finish a film they were halfway through as if it were the most normal thing ever,” Ona rants the minute she hits the concrete of Las Rozas, walking into the facility with Aitana and the other girls who travelled with her from Barcelona. Only the midfielder has been gracious enough to listen to the entire monologue, but the others joke that that is because Ona’s emotional state has led her to spiral in her native language. It is forbidden for them to openly speak Catalan in the Spanish camp, according to Jorge Vilda, who loves to hurl a ‘we can send you back to where you came from in an instant’ their way if he so much as hears a ‘bon dia’. Naturally, Aitana doesn’t give a fuck about the rule, although Ona chooses to believe that she is listening because she cares.

“Are you done?” Aitana asks thoughtfully, sucking on her bottom lip as she tries to absorb her friend’s crisis and formulate a valid, sensible response. The two have known each other for a while now, and Aitana remembers a time when Ona was relentlessly teased by their older teammates for being in love with her best friend. It is clear to her that those feelings never ceased, though she has heard through the grapevine (Leila Ouahabi) that you are now a model and you live somewhere in Italy. You’re part Italian, is what Leila also claims, having professed your ethnicity to a small huddle of fellow gossipers one day in the gym at the Barça training facility.

“No! Nothing is ever done with her. It’s viscous and it continues in a horrid cycle that has me flapping around in circles like some idiot. I am one of her boys.” Ona groans dramatically, the sound perhaps a little too loud. A few of the girls in front of them turn around to see why a cat seems to have been strangled, but they quickly lose interest when they see it is just Ona and her disastrous situation. “Do you know how fucking humiliating it is to be one of her guys? I am a professional footballer! I play for Manchester United, one of the most historic clubs in the world, and I am about to represent my country in a major tournament. I am successful, Aita, and yet I am still not enough for her.”

“Maybe she only likes men.”

“A man has never made her scream like I have,” she bites back. Aitana blushes, but Ona is too far gone in her rage to hear her crudeness nor preserve her friend’s sanity. “She’s been like this since she decided she was gay! Isn’t that hilarious? ‘Ona, I think I’m gay’, she said. I know lesbian breakups can be hard, but there is no way my cousin fucked her up to this extent.”

“I can’t help you with this, Oni,” Aitana laments, sorry to have to confess this to her friend. “I think you need to talk to her about it. A proper conversation to fix long-term issues, not like the ones you obviously had when agreeing to stop having sex and things like that. Only she knows what she’s thinking.” It is definitely not the advice Ona wants to hear, but she cannot deny the midfielder’s wisdom. “But for now, we focus on winning.”

…

You are more than a little confused.

To start from the beginning, Ona’s cousin fucked you up. She broke your heart, and that first impression of dating girls was incredibly traumatising. With girls, you don’t just kiss and sleep with them, you get close – really close – and then when you break up, it is like you have lost both a girlfriend and a best friend.

Men are a lot simpler. Men like you and they aren’t shy about it. They can sometimes be just as cruel, but you have never felt invested enough to care too much.

Some nights, you don’t fall asleep, tossing and turning between your sexual identity, aware that you don’t need to label it but desperate to… discover yourself. If you don’t understand that part of you, how will someone else? How can you be loved? How do you even know who you want to love you?

For as much as Milan is great, it definitely doesn’t help you with your crisis. Girls in Milan like to do what they want. It is not uncommon for the models to kiss each other in clubs, in front of appreciative male gazes or not, and then reveal their engagement to their future husband the very next day. It’s easy to be drawn into such a bubble, but the minute you step out of it, you are hit with the real world.

It’s what makes the pandemic so distressing for you personally, because you are forced to live like normal people for some time. Your eyes are held open and the question is shoved down your throat, and it really doesn’t help that Ona’s cousin never moved out of Vilassar de Mar.

She sees you one day, saying hello from a suitable distance as you pick up milk as per your mother’s request. “I heard you’re modelling?” she asks with no agenda, no seductive glint in her eye. You notice the ring on her finger, and she feels the heaviness of your staring. “Oh, I got married a year ago. Did Ona not tell you?”

You realise that you and Ona try to avoid talking about anything other than the love interests you have. “No, she didn’t. Congratulations, though. She’s a lucky woman.”

“You don’t have to pretend you’re happy for me,” laughs the woman opposite you, amused and somewhat apologetic. “Look, I’m really sorry for how I acted when we were younger. I was definitely not the most mature person out there, and I know I hurt you.”

“I cried for months.”

“I’m sorry,” she repeats. You suck in a deep breath, trying to hold the memories of your pain at bay. “The first breakup is usually the worst but at least it gets better, as you probably know.”

She looks at you expectantly, awaiting your confirmation. It never comes.

“I haven’t dated another girl since,” you tell her, sounding rather detached from yourself.

Her eyebrows furrow and she is clearly frowning behind her facemask. “What about Ona? I thought you were together when you lived in Madrid. It takes more than a friendship to do what you did.”

You were originally going to go to university in England. It was your dream, and Ona wasn’t entirely aware of the situation because you hadn’t wanted to tell her you were leaving. Then she was sent out on a professional contract to Madrid, and it wasn’t like you were the only one leaving.

Ona’s cousin, years ago, had suggested that you go to Madrid if you wanted to get away from Vilassar de Mar. “You’ll be close enough to come home when you’d like, but not so close that you’ll feel as though nothing has changed,” she had said.

No one had known about your offers in England aside from your parents. And Ona’s cousin, who’d only found out because you had called her, drunk on celebratory champagne, because you had to tell someone.

“You gave up a dream for her because you didn’t want her to be alone.”

“I moved to Milan. In the end, she was alone.”

“You sound like you regret it,” she replies, nodding once at you to bid you farewell and then heading over to a woman who is standing with a puppy in her arms. You watch as she pulls down her mask and kisses her wife, her eyes shining with love and happiness, and your blood runs green with jealousy.

You hate Ona’s cousin for devastating you once more.

Do you regret it?

It’s unclear.

You try to make sense of it when you don’t hesitate to fly back to Italy the minute you can, going home to lick your wounds at Ona’s non-committal response to meeting you when you are in London the next month. It hurts that she is no longer at your beck-and-call, but you are somewhat happy for her. You know that lines have been crossed and that she has suffered for it. You know that you are probably the one at fault here.

This time in Milan, you don’t fight it as much. You kiss other girls and let them go home to their boyfriends; you submit to the thing you had convinced yourself you would never become.

As you drive yourself deeper and deeper into your stereotype, the thought of Ona gets pushed away and newer, more culturally-acceptable fantasies come to mind.

It takes a photoshoot for him to ask you out on a date.

It takes returning home and gaining the approval of Ona’s parents (who are far more open than your own) for you to agree to be official.

You don’t ask Ona what she thinks. She’s busy, you reason, because she is representing Spain at the Euros. She won’t care who you are dating and she certainly doesn’t need it rubbed in her face.

There are many reasons why you go out with him.

One is that you do like him; he’s nice, he’s funny, he treats you well. (He’s not Ona.) Another is that rent is going up and him sharing the load is helpful. (He’s not Ona.) There is also that he is very popular within the agency, and your chemistry on camera is enough to keep your jobs rolling in and casting directors satisfied.

He’s not Ona. You know that.

That's the whole point.

If he were Ona, you’d be deeply in love with him. If he were Ona, you would never leave the house, never leave his embrace, never leave the little bubble created when it is just the two of you and no one else. If he were Ona, you would be excited about the conversations he gently guides you into; marriage, children, where you are going to live one day. You’d miss him more when he isn’t here. You’d care.

But you just… don’t.

Another year passes, more Ona-less than the last, and then she is suddenly coming back home to Barcelona, a medal around her neck and word of a relationship floating above her head.

You could ask her about it if you wanted to because she is still one of your closest friends, but the truth is, you really, desperately don’t want to hear it. While Ona has been falling in love with someone else, you have been proving your stupid feelings to yourself.

The act (your current relationship) lowers enough for you to go home for Christmas. You leave Milan as though fleeing from a hurricane, and you refuse to control the damage until you have entered the new year. Your parents aren’t entirely sure they want you moping about the house, confused how someone so successful can revert to a moody teenager the minute they are back in safe territory, and they heavily encourage you to accept an invite that was extended out to you a few months ago.

Your friends are going skiing in Andorra, and they’d like for you to come with them.

“Ona won’t be there,” one of them regretfully informs you. “She said she doesn’t want to make things weird. She has a girlfriend – or, I don’t know, a talking stage. She wants you to have fun.”

“But Ona and I are friends,” you try to explain, feeling exposed by the look of pity she gives you; the same look someone receives when they find out their ex has gotten married or something similar. As a defensive mechanism, you hastily pull out your phone and dial her number. Everyone watches you, now uninterested in their food as you dine and plan your holiday.

Ona picks up on the third ring, escaping her dinner with Lucy and rushing into the cool, nighttime air of Barcelona.

“Hi?” she says – asks – with raised eyebrows, wondering if you’re in danger.

“You’re coming skiing with us, aren’t you?”

Your friends hide their laughs behind their hands, surprised by how firm your tone is. You do not need it for Ona, because she does anything you say regardless, but they enjoy seeing this side of you. This is someone who has had to fend for herself in a foreign country.

Removing the phone from her ear for a moment, Ona sighs, disappointed in herself.

“Yeah, of course. I’ve missed you, you know.”

…

Skiing is not something Ona is really allowed to do. As a footballer, her legs are what pay her wage. Career-destroying planks of metal are not the best way to spend the dying embers of the year. She knows that. She does, she swears, but she is so eager to go that Jonatan cannot crush her dreams. He tells her, “if you get injured your contract will be reviewed, Ona Batlle,” and she promises him that it won’t happen. Nothing bad is going to happen.

It will be the first time she has spent more than a day with her childhood friends, and she is unbelievably excited.

Lucy finds it adorable and makes it known, helping her pack for her trip, versed in what to bring because her sister skis or something like that (Ona can’t really focus on her almost-girlfriend's monologue). Lucy likes Ona a lot, and it makes her stomach flutter when she thinks about Ona and her friends talking about them. She’s sure her feelings are reciprocated, and she cannot wait for Ona to return to her in the new year, all smiles and lingering hangovers, and ask her to be her girlfriend. Officially.

Your friends convene in the centre of Vilassar de Mar with two cars between you. There are ten people coming.

Someone, most-likely trying to keep the peace, instructs Ona into one vehicle and you into the other. The drive isn’t too long, but you suppose that the tension is uncomfortable for those who aren’t accustomed to maintaining a friendship despite the weight of it.

It’s five days, and you are determined to have fun.

Ona is naturally good at this, although she claims it is her first time. You, living in Milan, are just as advanced.

By the third day, the both of you agree that going off together to do some of the harder runs will be harmless. Spending the day together won’t feel like a date or a romantic holiday. Watching Ona glide over the compacted snow won’t be attractive, watching her cocky smirk as she scales the bumps along the side of the piste won’t do anything.

It won’t. (It does.)

And it just has to be the third day that someone pulls out two bottles of tequila and a drinking game that is going to ensure every single one of you is off your face by midnight.

In rooms opposite one another, you and Ona call your respective partners and tell them about how great a time you are having, actively avoiding telling them about who you spent the day with as though it counts as cheating. It doesn’t, technically. Nothing has happened. But, still, it feels intimate and secret; forbidden.

Then, there is a shout that rings through the house. Everyone comes to the table; the party has begun.

Ona finds out that she is absolutely terrible at drinking games, and loses in every way possible.

You find out that she is still just as touchy when she is drunk.

Your friends try not to comment on it, all having agreed upon yet another passive role in such an irritating situation. Their non-interference almost ceases by the time Ona climbs onto your lap, head turning as she whispers something into your drunk ears, making you laugh privately. In fact, someone has to hold someone else back before they shout at the two of you to make out or break up.

But it’s not really necessary, their prompting, because it hits a certain hour and… nothing else matters anymore.

Ona has been touching you the whole night and you have finally reached your limit.

Boyfriend be damned, you lead her to your bedroom.

She asks you many times if you still want this, and you cannot think of anything to say other than ‘yes’.

You’re not as drunk as she is, and you both know that, but everything feels so perfect and right.

When you wake up the next morning, your anger is more at yourself than the sleeping woman beside you, but she is an outward target for such a boiling emotion and it just makes things easier.

“Ona.” You shake her awake, not caring for her hangover. “Ona, I can’t believe we’ve done this.” She rubs her eyes, dazed and confused for a moment but coming to her senses soon enough. “I have a boyfriend, Ona, and… I don’t like you like that.”

It’s not true.

It’s really, really, really not true, but the fact that you have said it is enough for Ona to leave your room with the intention of never seeing you again.

She gets the train back to Barcelona, turning up at Lucy’s flat in floods of tears, and barrels straight into those strong arms with the intention of never mentioning what she has done.

…

You break up with your boyfriend a month later. Or rather, he breaks up with you, tired of being messed around, tired of your hesitation to fully commit.

The break-up is not the most upsetting thing you’ve been through, but your ego is a little bruised.

You try to make it look like you are having a great time in Milan, even though the agency has once again discarded your file and overlooked you for shoots you used to book in an instant. You try to seem like things aren’t falling apart, but it’s of no use when your father calls you and tells you that your mother is ill.

It isn’t cancer but it’s similar, and you know that you need to come home.

You pack your bags and leave without a second thought, because maybe Madrid was far enough. Maybe there is a reason Ona signed for her home club again and most of your friends still live relatively close to their parents.

Maybe you are not meant to be separated from those you love, because running away is futile if you are always going to end up together again.

In Barcelona, a modelling agency eagerly draws up a contract with you. Although you are from there, your career being based in Milan previously creates an international allure about you (or so they say), and you are assured that work is going to rush towards you as though someone has just knocked down a dam.

Your job is secured, your mother begins treatment, but there is something you cannot shake off.

It hurts to think of Ona, to think of how you left things, but it helps, too. Seeing her face in your mind is comforting. You hear her voice as you drift off to sleep, and you let it soothe you in your dreams.

“Ona has a girlfriend,” her mother tells you when you next visit them. Her frown is unexpected because all she has ever wanted is for her children to be happy and loved. “It’s not right, it doesn’t feel right.” You begin to shrug your shoulders and crawl into your shell, but she interrupts your thought process; “I think you should go see her.”

“Why?”

The woman rolls her eyes. “Just do what I say.”

You nod because she is so scarily sure about it, and you… It’s hard to believe, but you call Ona.

She picks up.

“I was sorry to hear about your mum.”

“Don’t worry. She’s fine.”

“Are you back at home?”

“Yeah, I am.” You pause. “Well, not quite. I’m living in Barcelona.”

Something fizzes in the air; pops, crackles.

“Need me to show you around the city?”

And it’s Ona, so how could you say no?

…

Your visit goes very well.

She takes you out to dinner and shows you around her neighbourhood. She introduces you when she runs into people she knows, and she is insistent about dragging you to her football match on the weekend.

Everything is seemingly forgiven and Ona is intent on integrating you back into her life.

She wants you to feel at home, though she knows you should already, and she wants to lessen the stress of hospital appointments and death and, if not death, then a difficult recovery.

You are sitting in her apartment – now devoid of all signs of Lucy – on her comfortable sofa, watching something together after a day of walking around and sealing up the cracks that formed in Andorra.

Sitting leads into cuddling and then into wandering hands that eagerly roam underneath layers of fabric.

Ona’s breath hitches as you brush the hard lines of her abs, your hands particularly drawn to them and just how strong she has become. “You must have only felt them on men,” she offers as an explanation. “How many have you slept with in comparison to–?”

And your hands stop.

“Sorry,” Ona mumbles, seemingly upset at her outburst. “I’m just curious. I can’t work you out.” She can’t quite look you in the eye, mainly due to the logistics of your position, but she isn’t sure she wants to see the truth attached to her statement.

You question if that’s a good thing, the fact she needs to ask; the fact that she has no choice but to communicate. It was going to happen sooner or later. “A few,” is what you settle on. Ona leaves it at that, carefully pulling the hair tie from your plait, unravelling it with one hand as the other rests against your stomach in an embrace. You smile. “You’re not going to ask who?”

Her fingers stop for a moment. “No.” She speaks so quietly, her voice almost a whisper in your ear. “I don’t care about them.” You relax into her more, feeling her against your back, feeling the softness of the blanket against your feet as it hangs at the edge of the sofa.

“Who do you care about, then?”

“You.”

Carefully, both her hands hold your hips and she sits you up, smiling as she does. You tell her she’s showing off, she replies that you are always showing off. To that, you brush those hands from your sides and lean down to kiss her, more decidedly for once; more in control. It’s a surprising feeling for both of you, the forcefulness. Urgency. Not unfamiliar, but unexpected for this time on this day.

The last time you kissed Ona, you had a boyfriend.

Your mouth goes to her neck as soon as she decides that she wants her hands back on your hips, pushing you down into her lap. It’s now a competition, you think. She’s quickly coming completely undone by your kissing and biting, but you are not ignoring the feeling as she makes you grind down, makes you need that friction. “Fuck,” you moan in her ear. She grips you tighter.

You start to pull off her shirt having had enough of the grey between you, asking if it’s okay, if she’s sure she isn’t too tired. Her reply is, “take it off, god,” and then the removal of your clothes that get thrown just shy of the wine glasses set out on her coffee table. Leggings aren’t the most practical for impromptu sex, but she’s quick and smooth and someone who has definitely done that before.

With your bare chest on display and almost nothing between Ona and you, she lifts you up for a moment with the intention of flipping the two of you, getting you on your back. You pause for a moment, trying to decide if she’s doing it because she wants to or because she thinks that’s the only way to do it, but her hands are moving now, up your sides, round the front of your chest and you relax. She laughs quietly, amused, because the tension dissipates, dissolving like sweet, sweet sugar in hot coffee as soon as your legs wrap around her back.

Ona asks before she does it, picking you up and laying you back down without needing to part her lips from your own. You watch her as she sits up, body in between your thighs. “You’re going to just stay there?” She shakes her head. “I can top,” you tease, a stark contrast from how it was the last time you did this. Ona doesn’t like being told she can’t do something. However indirectly.

“Yeah?” You nod, biting the smirk out of your lips. “I don’t care.”

You are in the process of rolling your eyes when her cocky mouth is put to good use. Your underwear was taken off at some point earlier — you hadn’t realised. Ona’s head moves between your legs, up and down, your hand that isn’t holding onto the sofa in her hair, the soft waves lacing between your fingers.

She’s good at it; thorough, practised. Her tongue circles your clit for a moment before dipping into your entrance. Something about the cockiness of her movements, her tongue, her hand rubbing between her own legs, makes everything more surreal, more blissful. She moans softly, lips kissing their way up your body, hands no longer focused on herself. Instead, they take the place of her mouth, two fingers inside you as quickly as it takes for her to ask if you are okay to carry on. Your reply (“yes”) is cut off quickly by her mouth on yours, tongue swiping at your bottom lip in another question of permission. You can taste yourself on her.

At her command, you sit up, letting her pull you back onto her lap as she sucks at your neck. “Don’t leave any marks,” you warn as her teeth pull a whimper from your supposed stoicness. “I don’t want the makeup artists asking questions.” It comes out too late, because you feel her teeth graze your collarbone quickly, not painful, no, but something that feels so, so good. “Ona.” She sighs in disappointment and adjusts where you are in her lap, so your legs are either side of her thigh.

You find yourself rocking slowly, letting her savour your breasts between her hands and her mouth. She whispers that she wants to see you come, that you don’t need to hold back – not with her, not ever – so you start grinding down, harder, faster. Her hands drop back to your hips, guiding your movements, forcing you to slow down when she feels everything building up. Each time, you let out a “fuck” and attempt to go against her grip to get that friction. “Not just yet,” she mutters, no longer touching you anywhere other than where her hands meet your hips and her thigh presses between your legs.

“Fuck off, Ona,” you breathe, frustrated. “When, then?”

She slows the pace even more. “Can you last a little longer?” You look at her face, brushing away the strands of hair that have fallen over her eyes, ghosting your fingers along her cheek, running your thumb along her lips. She smiles again, eyes creasing slightly.

As her hands drop to cup your face, you say, “you’re beautiful.”

Ona blushes.

You look down at her exposed cleavage, nipples pebbled against the sports bra that is unusually low-cut. It might border on intense staring as you begin to grind against her with the intention of actually getting off now. She laughs, saying her eyes are higher up than that, but going back to her trail of kisses along your jaw nevertheless.

For what seems like longer than a few seconds, the build up finally stops, the tower toppling over in a rush of pleasure. Ona’s hands move your hips as your head drops to rest on her shoulder. She talks you through it, telling you that you look so pretty, telling you that she’s so turned on.

And that’s when she whispers it.

It has taken years to get to this moment, many of them filled with unnecessary suffering.

It has taken years but it does not matter.

Ona tells you that she loves you and that is when you have finally come home.

#woso x reader #woso #randombush3 #barca femeni #woso imagines #ona batlle x reader #ona batlle #ona batlle smut

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finniestoncrane · 1 month ago

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Farrell!Penguin x Plus Size!Fem!Reader, word count: 8.5k commission: i am an oswald cobblepot fat girl lover truther, and i am always so so so so overjoyed when i get to write him loving on a big girl!! this is a sweet commission i got for a slightly shy and maybe a bit insecure and nervous plus size reader going on a date with oswald and then having some dessert afterwards... 💜🐧 commission me here! request info • prompt list • send me a request • kofi • masterlist minors DNI!! 🔞 cw: weight/insecurities mentioned, passing up food, awkward dinner date, penetrative sex, there's a magnum condom for my monster dong moment in here so you better at least giggle and blush for him

It was a fairly typical Saturday for you, with the exception of the evening’s plans. The minute that five o’clock had hit, you were rushing up off the sofa to start getting ready. Not that you had been doing anything except sitting in silence and waiting all day. Every time you tried to read or work on your latest craft project, or even turn on the TV for some mindless, numbing background noise, you had been immediately distracted by your nerves. And worst of all, those nerves had now made you ever so slightly behind your own schedule.

You ran quickly from the bathroom of your small apartment to the bedroom, abandoning the towel as it fell from you, but catching it in your hand to drag it along behind, and hoping none of your neighbours happened to peer in through the blinds at that moment. Standing in the corner of your room, you wicked away at the droplets of water on your body, watching your thighs jiggle as you rubbed them down. If you spent too long on this, the painful ritual of doting on your body, you might not want to go out at all, and you couldn’t risk any kind of delay-inducing breakdown. This was too important. How often was it that people were invited out on a date with Oswald Cobblepot?

A lot, actually, you imagined. He was handsome, charismatic, powerful, and of course, rich. A fact which you didn’t find important, but which he had flaunted anyway by sending you an outfit to wear for your dinner with him. You didn’t even recognise the name of the boutique on the packaging it arrived in, that’s how fancy it must have been. And you had immediately felt out of your depth, knowing that Oswald was more fashionable, more in the know than you. About everything, it seemed.

Well, maybe not everything. You weren’t quite sure how certain he’d be that he’d made the right move in asking you out once you had the dress actually on. It felt too tight, and like it highlighted every part of you that you were entirely self-conscious about. Every lump, every bump, every asymmetrical curve that you found on the sides of your body, the way your stomach and back both protruded somehow. This dress found a way to highlight it, like it was set out to disappoint you. An enemy. But you were already running dangerously behind schedule, and while that of course would usually send you over the edge and into a pit of nerves, this was only amplified by a thousand, made exponentially worse by the fact that you were potentially going to be late for a date. A date with none other, and you hated to repeat yourself, Oswald Fucking Cobblepot. There really was no time for you to let in the nagging self-doubt, not tonight. If you didn’t look directly at it, then you could pretend it wasn’t happening.

You quickly tidied up your hair, letting it fall into a slightly neater version of your usual style, and added what little makeup you were willing to wear, knowing that your nervous sweating was liable to have it all sloughing off within minutes anyway. Your concerns about looking absolutely perfect for Oswald were no longer a priority, or even a possibility. All you needed to be at this moment was presentable and on-time. And those concrete needs were slipping out of your grasp with every minute you spent panicking in your apartment. With a final deep breath and a quick check of your bag to make sure you had everything, you gripped the door handle and headed out.

Surprisingly, the forecast had been relatively pleasant for the day, and you found this to be accurate when you were out in the mild, thick air of Gotham. No rain, no wind, just a grey sky and an above average temperature for what seemed like the perpetually dismal and gloomy place you called home. Still, you carried your umbrella in your bag anyway, not trusting anything about the city. Umbrella, pepper spray, spare cell phone battery, mini first aid kit. The essentials. As you walked down the steps to the subway station a block away from your home, you wondered how many other cities necessitated this level of preparation and protection from its citizens. Surely, any other city, any normal city, even those without their own vigilante figures of justice, would maybe, at a push, carry some pepper spray. But, you wouldn’t have it any other way. Without the risk, there was no reward. And if the risk was a cavalcade of gimmicky, but dangerous, villains, the reward was Oswald Cobblepot. He was very much worth it, in the grand scheme of things.

As you waited on the platform among the throngs of other commuters, you tried to soothe your nerves by reliving the moment Oswald had approached you. Out alone, stood up by a blind date, filled with nerves about whether or not he had seen you and decided he wasn’t into ‘big girls’ and then left without a single word.And just as you had decided that the drink in your hand would be your last, your senses were overwhelmed by a presence that made your heartbeat quicken. There was a distinct warmth, a deep, almost sweet scent, and a feeling of safety that enveloped you as a figure sidled up beside you at the bar. They asked you a question, a simple one, almost cliche.

“How’s someone like you drinking alone, sweetheart?”

When you turned to answer, you felt yourself wobble on the bar stool, body threatening to faint as you recognised Oswald Cobblepot, smiling at you, his gold tooth glinting in the dim lights of the bar.

Initially, you thought it was a mistake, and had turned to see if there was someone prettier sitting behind you that had caught his eye. But he had placed his thumb and forefinger on your chin, turning you back around to meet his eye. A confident move that, had it been executed by anyone else, you would have been quick to beat them off and leave angrily. But this was Oswald. Fucking. Cobblepot. His charisma and reputation let him get away with a lot of things in Gotham, a bit of forceful flirting was definitely one of them.

He had asked your name, placed his hand high on your thigh as you spoke, and then apologised for having to leave so quickly. But he took your number, gave you his, and told you to be ready on Saturday, because he was taking you out to make up for whatever ‘dumb, rat bastard’ had stood you up. You had expected it to be an empty gesture, one meant to placate a damsel in distress. So when the text came in the next morning, you were giddy beyond belief, and then had to sit down and practice your deep breathing to prevent a panic attack. Then the call came, and you worked out the details together. Or at least, you agreed with every aspect of the plan that Oswald told you.

And then yesterday, the dress had arrived.

The box it came in was itself more extravagant and beautiful than anything you’d ever even treated yourself to after a long time saving up. One of those boxes you knew you were saving, because it would definitely come in handy somehow. And the ribbons it was tied up in, the bow on top so perfect, the tissue paper the dress was carefully nestled within, all of it was too good to toss away. Plus, it had been hand-delivered by the courier of whatever high end store Oswald had purchased it from, the logo of which you didn’t recognise even, so it was all pristine. Your excitement was only dulled when you finally dared to open the box, very carefully, and found within it that the dress was definitely far more revealing than anything you had ever owned or even considered owning.

The low, scoop neck, the thigh high slit on the side, the tight, silk material, the thin straps, the sleeveless and backless style. None of it was your preference. And you’d known from the moment you tried it on that you’d be uncomfortable in it all evening. But it didn’t seem like there was any validity to the option of not wearing it. You might as well have spat in the box and sent it back to Oswald. No, you had to wear this dress. For him.

The next problem, once you had accepted the fate of having each one of your curves and rolls, your arms exposed, your breasts and cleavage, albeit sagging with weight, on display, was that you had nothing to wear with the dress. You had no spare cash, and not even anything in your savings, that you could part with in order to procure some accessories or a pair of shoes or a handbag that did the dress justice. And it was winter, which meant that you would have to wear your same old coat over the top on the journey to the restaurant where you were meeting Oswald.

“Like slapping makeup on a… yeah.” You thought it to yourself, cringing at how cruel your own words could be, but frowning at the truth. The nicest things you owned would have to do, and luckily, they were neutral enough, in silver and black, that they complemented, or at least didn’t clash with, the deep, shimmering and almost pearlescent purple of the silk fabric that made up the dress. All in all, you didn’t hate how the look had come together, but you were happy to wrap your body up in your almost ankle length puffer jacket as you thought about being viewed in public. Beneath the thick coat, no one would know, and that suited you perfectly.

As you grimaced at the harsh wind that bit at your cheeks, oddly grateful for the way it had distracted you from your almost forlorn thought spiral, you noticed the slight rumbling of the train that signalled its arrival at the station. Jostled from side to side by other commuters desperate, for some reason, to be the first on the train, you finally found your way inside and scoped out the carriage for a seat.

Looking to your left, you caught the eye of a woman with a seat next to her, who looked down to your shoes and back up to your head with a look of vague disgust, one you were familiar with from some people. She looked to be making herself as small as possible in her seat, as if she thought you might crush her when you sat down. You decided you’d rather stand quite happily than let her judge you so extremely, and karma served her quickly as a kid wearing headphones which were blasting tinny music sat down beside her and spread his legs apart, taking up the space she had so graciously provided him, much to her chagrin.

Smiling a little, trying to keep it to yourself, you saw there was now a seat to your right, and when you looked, the man beside the empty spot smiled and shifted his bag onto his lap. With gratitude, you smiled at him as you sat down, holding your own bag in front of you and keeping yourself busy by watching your reflection in the window opposite you. It was there that you spotted the man at your side stretching his neck, trying to gaze down the front of your jacket, which had come unzipped slightly, exposing your bare neck and the deep cleavage the dress provided. Just as you prepared yourself to cough or make it known that you were well aware of what he was doing, you felt his body lean into you, far too close for comfort, and he whispered in your ear.

“Y’know, I like a big girl.”

That was enough to have you standing up and walking away to the door of the carriage. You were only one stop early, you could walk to the restaurant. Anything was better than sitting there being judged or ogled. Usually, you could shrug these gazes off, the cruelty, the fetishisation of your body, but today everything just seemed to weigh that much heavier on your mind, with no pun intended.

Once out of the station, you looked at your phone and began pounding the pavement, realising that because you had gotten off a stop earlier, you might be a few minutes later. The world felt like it was closing in on you, a catastrophe of epic proportions which would set the entire date off on the wrong foot.

“Hey, gorgeous. You rushin’ to see someone special?”

You were in no mood now, and what little bravery you could muster was quick to come out as you turned to scold the sleaze who was trying to hit on someone who was so obviously busy. Luckily, before the tirade of venom spilled over your plump, pouting lips, you recognised the face, the smile, leaning out of the extravagant, deep purple and gold car’s window.

“If you’re goin’ my way, I could give you a ride?”

Oswald winked, leaning over to the passenger side and pushing open the door. The restaurant was minutes away, but you got in anyway, not wanting to make things awkward by refusing a ride. With his hands on the wheel, thick fingers, gold rings on them curled around it, he took off for the short journey. As he drove, you could feel your upper lip sweating, unsure about what to do or say now, but you managed to spew some words out.

“Mr Cobblepot, it’s nice to see you again! At least I don’t have to worry about how to find you when I walk in the restaurant.”

“Oswald, doll. We’re on a date, it’s not a formal affair.”

Cursing yourself, feeling your cheeks flush a little, you let out a soft laugh.

“Oswald, thank you for the ride.”

“No problem, glad I could be of service.”

Within a few minutes you were pulling into the parking space at the front of the restaurant, one you were sure had been kept empty by the poor waiter standing out in the rain. They really rolled out the red carpet for Oswald Cobblepot around here, evidently, and the thought made you nervous. What if they were shocked by his choice of date? Confused, enough to whisper about you, to mention it to him when he got up to go to the bar alone for drinks. Maybe he’d change his mind about you if someone told him he could do better? You had to toss those thoughts to the side for now. You were on a date with him, and that was enough. If this ended horribly, if he never wanted to see you again, at the very least you could be grateful that you got this sweet taste of the good life for one evening.

You smiled towards Oswald as he held the door open for you, trying your best to look confident, and to pretend that you weren’t terrified to enter into the building first. Already, you could feel eyes on you. These kinds of people could smell on you that you didn’t belong there. It was obvious to them. But when Oswald stepped up behind you, every lingering stare was quickly averted, no one daring to make any judgements while you were on the arm of someone so powerful. It was an interesting feeling. Safety, for one of the first times in your life. Even standing next to him felt like you were being held in a warm embrace of comfort. He just exuded a confidence you couldn’t quite find, and he seemed to have plenty to share.

Pushing ahead of you, Oswald followed the waiter to your table and pulled your seat out for you, taking the seat opposite and moving it around to sit closer. With a snap of his fingers, the wait staff rushed to move his place setting around in front of him, murmuring quiet, sincere apologies as they did so. And before you could let that inherent egoism of that power move to settle uncomfortably on your mind, he opened his wallet and passed each of them a crisp, hundred dollar bill, patting them on the back and offering his deepest gratitude. He was generous, a gentlemen, and he was kind to everyone on every rung of the ladder, it seemed. He really was absolutely perfect.

Lifting the menu, hiding your blushing smile behind it, you studied the plentiful options and felt the drool collect against your cheeks before you reminded yourself of who you were, where you were, and who your company was, at which point you flitted your eyes to the lighter options and settled on a bland salad.

“What’re ya havin’, kid? Remember, this is my treat.”

“Oh, thank you, Mr Co- Oswald. I was actually looking at the garden salad, it looks very nice.”

“Huh… sure thing.”

He seemed disappointed in your request, and you wondered at what point you’d gone wrong. There were a multitude of possible answers to that question though, of course, so instead you tried to steer the conversation on to another topic.

“So, do you come here often? The staff seem to know you.”

Lowering his menu, Oswald flashed you a grin, his tooth glinting as he winked.

“They know me everywhere, doll.”

As you tried to struggle out of the whole it felt you were digging, he laughed heartily, placing his hand on your knee for a brief moment before removing it again.

“Relax, sweetheart, I’m just joking. I mean, they do know me everywhere, and I mean everywhere, but I’ve been comin’ here since I was a young man, just making my way in the world. This food’ll keep you right, keep you good on the path to success, ya hear?”

“And I ordered a garden salad. Fuck.”

“It sounds wonderful, Oswald. What are you going to have?”

Before he could answer, an old man, who you assumed was the owner, approached the table with a notepad, slapping Oswald on the back before greeting him.

“Mr Cobblepot! Nice to see you again, and with a date this time! Lucky you!”

You smiled, unsure if he meant either you or Oswald were the lucky ones.

“What can I get you, big guy? The usual?”

Raising his hands, Oswald shook his head.

“Uh, no, not tonight friend. We’re gonna have the nicest bottle of red you’ve got, and two garden salads, thanks, chief.”

“If you say so, Mr Cobblepot.”

With that, the ticket was put in, and your meal was prepared. There was a surge of disappointment coursing through you, but considering what other limited options you had, you felt you had done the right thing. Although, you couldn’t help but feel horrendously guilty about the fact that Oswald had felt as though he couldn’t eat what he wanted. You supposed there was some unreconciled double standard there, one that was enforced by society but ultimately upheld by your own self-doubt. But you had to commit now. That was at least a concrete plan while you got through the rest of the meal.

You tried to keep your eyes on Oswald, focusing on him as he spoke. As much as you didn’t really want this date to be something you had to “get through” that was, unfortunately, how it felt. To you, this was a chore for Oswald. Something he had committed to, and had to carry on with until he was done and could say goodbye to you. An embarrassment, in the dress he hadn’t yet commented on, which of course meant he hated it. Ordering a stupid salad and making him feel bad about whatever it was that he wanted. The sooner it was over, the better, at least for him. And it meant you could stop trying to pretend like you couldn’t see the prying eyes of the other tables, looking over at you, judging your clothes, your looks, the food you might eat, the company you were keeping.

Still, you managed to find some energy to maintain a conversation. It would have been impossible not to. Everything Oswald said, every polite, interesting question he asked you, every kind word he had commanded your attention. So much so that the time it took you both to place your forks down felt like it had gone in miraculously quick. Which it likely had. You didn’t want to look at your watch, but you imagined that given the fact you were both picking at what you would usually have considered a pretty small appetiser, that barely any time had passed at all. Not exactly value for his money, you cursed inwardly.

Looking to your plate, you were pleased, in a cruel and self-hating way, to see that you had managed to even leave some of the salad uneaten. The fear of eating in front of people not conquered, but at least bypassed, skillfully sidestepped for another evening.

And then your stomach rumbled.

You might have gotten away with it if you hadn’t also looked straight up and into his eyes to make sure he didn’t notice, but he did. Completely embarrassed, you made a move to excuse yourself, but he raised his hand and shook it, sighing as he spoke.

“Listen, kid… you gotta tell me. Why didn’t you just order what you wanted?”

“I… uh, I did, Oswald.”

“Look, either you’re lying to me, because I don’t think you did. Or, you’re not the kinda gal I thought you were. I can’t tell which is more disappointing.”

“Well, I’ve fucked this up. I might as well be completely honest.”

You took a deep breath, emotions running high enough to give you not a boost of confidence, but a complete lack of ability to hold your tongue.

“Ok, fine. That’s not what I wanted. I wanted the burger. The big, fat, greasy burger. With everything on it. And a side of the truffle fries. And the garlic bread. I don’t know why that was all on the menu, this place seems too fancy. I guess they have it on there for people like me. People with an unrefined palate. People who are greedy. People who are f…”

You trailed off on the last word, very aware that not only were you dangerously close to insulting yourself, but Oswald also.

“I’m really sorry, Oswald. It’s… I should have been honest. It’s difficult for me to… I don’t like eating in front of people, usually. Not in public, and not anything that isn’t… y’know… healthy.”

Oswald wiped at his face with a napkin, and sat still for a few seconds, scrutinising you, looking to see if your words were truthful, although your shuddering breath and wet eyes suggested they were.

“Thank god for that, baby. I was worried I’d picked wrong. You shoulda just told me! You think I ain’t got a lil bit of that no good self-confidence block sometimes? I ain’t exactly the picture of a slender physique, y’know?”

He patted his stomach, smiling wide enough to pull a grin from you in return.

“I figured we’d eat together, keep each other company. I don’t date anyone I think can’t match me. You have no idea how worried I was when you were picking at that salad! You still hungry?”

Swallowing your nerves, you nodded gently, averting your eyes from him.

“C’mon then, lemme take you out for dessert.”

Oswald stood up from the table, offering you his hand to help you out of your seat. As he led you to the door he called out behind him.

“Thank you fellas, charge it to the card!”

You stayed mostly silent in the car, worried that Oswald was still wrestling with his opinion of you. Lying, pretending to be someone you weren’t, making him think he was wrong. Those all felt like cardinal sins of dating someone as amazing as he was, and you wouldn’t be surprised if he bought you dessert and then took you home. In fact, you expected it at this point. Though you weren’t sure what you thought would happen. It seemed unlikely that you’d get anything more out of him, he had been a complete gentleman the whole evening. No overkill on the flirting, kept his hands, and his eyes, to himself. Maybe, if you had been lucky, or hadn’t messed everything up, he would have given you a goodnight kiss. But now, you felt like it was a miracle he would even give you a ride home.

“Wait here, sweetheart, I’ll be right back.”

The car was stopped by the curb next to a little bakery you had walked by maybe once or twice on your way into the nicer side of town. You’d been so wrapped up in your own thoughts you hadn’t even noticed. From the window, you could see Oswald, laughing and talking to the woman behind the counter. He seemed to know everyone. Or, he was so personable that everyone he met instantly liked him and felt like they had a rapport. You wondered why it was so difficult for you to feel like that, though you did feel comforted by his presence. You chalked it up to your own insecurities, convinced you’d never be good enough for someone like him.

As he exited the building, he smiled, holding up two small, white paper bags and handing them to you as he got in the car.

“What’s this?”

“Cream donuts. Best in town. Best on this coast. Best in the world maybe. They’re my favourite, and I thought you’d like to try them, since you’re sweet, and round yourself.”

Blushing, you bit the inside of your cheek to suppress the high pitched squeal that threatened to ruin the cool exterior you were clinging onto.

“Thank you, Ozzie.”

“Ozzie?”

“Sorry! Oswald! I didn-”

“No, no, I like that. Sweetheart, you can call me whatever you like, I ain’t complaining.”

With that, he pulled out into the road and headed to your apartment, following your directions as he made the quick journey through the dark streets. When the car was stopped, he got out and opened the door for you, walking you up the steps and stopping at the front door. He was standing too far away for you to lean in and kiss him, as you were so desperate to do. It felt awkward, but you persevered. You had to speak. Without risk, there was no reward.

“Well, this is me. Would you… like to come in? I can make us coffee and we can eat our cream donuts?”

“Nothing has ever sounded better, toots.”

You smiled, unlocking the heavy front door and considering what that meant. Did he really want to spend more time with you, or was he just being polite? You couldn’t tell with him, he seemed so nice, so sweet. It wouldn’t surprise you if he agreed to marry you, and have kids with you, and retire to the Italian coast with you just out of his desire to be polite. Alternatively, it meant that he was coming into your apartment, fully aware of the implications behind that as an after date activity. So it really seemed, even though your brain fought against it, that he was into you.

Stepping in through the door, you held it open and stepped to the side against the wall to make room for Oswald. As you walked away, you tripped, feeling yourself being tugged back at your ankle by something that had latched onto your shoe. Stumbling forwards, you saw everything happen in slow motion, preparing to fall flat on your face, but instead found yourself limping into Oswald’s arms as he caught you. Looking up to him, his charming smile and breath of relief made your heart flutter more than the anticipation of the pain of thudding against the floor had. Looking down as you steadied yourself, you muttered your annoyance.

“Oh, shit…”

Oswald had caught you in time, making sure you didn’t fall and make a complete ass of yourself as you entered the building, but when you looked down to see what you had caught yourself on, you noticed that the little clasp on the strap of your shoe had bent backwards, snagging on a loose nail in the wall.

“Aw, I really liked these.”

“Wait there, sweetheart, lemme get that.”

It took you by complete surprise as Oswald knelt on one knee on the filthy ground, tarnishing the suit pants that you were sure cost more than a month of your rent plus utilities, just to help you out. It was incredibly chivalrous, dauntingly romantic, and yet managed to be so endearing and adorable. His fingers betrayed his cool, confident exterior as they trembled when they made contact with your skin. With one hand on your ankle and the other lifting the toe of your shoe, he lifted your leg up, balancing the sole on his other knee, and began working on the buckle.

“Musta got bent when you got knocked into the wall, toots. I can fix it though, gimme a sec.”

Still shaking, with what you could only assume were nerves, Oswald bent the little piece of metal back into shape and pulled the ankle strap back through the buckle. He gazed up at you, a question on his lips, but was stopped by his inability to form a coherent sentence. From this angle, you looked… he couldn’t really find the words, not even in his own mind. There was a noise akin to a pained groan filling his head, a desperate need to scream out, which he was sure would only translate to a pitiful whine if he dared try to say anything. You stared down at him, eyes wide as you waited for him to finish, or to speak. His hands held your lower leg, palm holding onto your soft skin as he stared back up to you. From down here, you looked angelic. The ceiling lights of the dingy entrance of your building, irritating and far too bright usually, seemed like a halo, an aura of beauty surrounding you. Your thighs, your stomach, your breasts, all of them more pronounced as your leg was hitched up into them. When you smiled, a look of slight concern, he watched as your cheeks pushed into your eyes, your double chin more pronounced as you leaned back. It had him struck completely dumb.

Trying to maintain his gentlemanly approach that he’d upheld the entire evening, he averted his eyes from your body, trying to push the thoughts of how each of those curves and soft protrusions would feel weighing down on him as he held you in bed, but for his efforts, he was only punished further. Out of the corner of his eye, and pulling his gaze in like a trap, he noticed that the way your leg was balanced on his mean that the slit of your dress was pulled wide. And from that exact angle, he could make out the front of your underwear. They covered everything, but that didn’t stop him from indulging in thoughts of a more carnal nature. How those thick, plump lips would feel around him, how soft your chubby mound would be against his nose as he dove in for a taste.

Clearing his throat and wobbling slightly, he lowered your leg to the floor and steadied himself, cheeks red as he chastised himself for taking such a long look at what was below your dress.

“There you go, doll. Good as new. But lemme get your size and I’ll have a new pair at your door by tomorrow, ok?”

You giggled, knowing there was no point in refusing his gesture, and took his hand as you guided him towards the stairs to your apartment. Taking it slow, so as not to rush Oswald given that his leg brace meant he was at a slightly slower natural pace than you, was actually pleasant. It meant you weren’t having to rush to pretend you could keep pace with ‘fitter’ people, and you didn’t have to hold your breath for fear of sounding like you were struggling. Everything felt right, like you were at the pace you should be at with Oswald.

Oswald, though, was more than happy to trail behind you as you made your way up the four flights of stairs to your apartment. Sure, his leg was getting a bit sore, his knees stiffening up, but it was worth it for the view. All evening, he had managed to steal glances, sneak a little peek at your body as you leaned in to speak to him, or shifted in your chair, or leaned back in the passenger seat of his car. How your lips had closed around your fork, how your eyes instantly shot to his as he spoke to you, how your cheeks puffed up when you smiled. The way your breasts spilled ever so slightly up over the top of the dress, the way your thighs spread out on a surface, the way your stomach hung and moved as you bent over. Only brief glimpses, but he had seen so much. And now, he had a free show.

Holding your coat in your arm, since it wasn’t needed for the brief ride home, you made your way up the steps in just your dress. The fabric clung to every curve, every protrusion of your soft form. Each stair you climbed, each move of your legs, your thighs jiggling, brushing against each other. The way your ass bounced, tightening and loosening as you stretched the muscles to carry you. By the time you both had reached your floor, he was having to try and picture some of the more horrific crime scenes he’d been a part of just to keep himself from going over the edge. If he got any stiffer, he wouldn’t be able to walk to your door.

With great effort, and with all of the strength he could muster, he managed to suppress his cruder instincts and desires and shuffled to your door, following you through it and sitting down on the sofa when you offered him a seat.

“Thanks, sweetheart. Beautiful place you got here, you got it lookin’ nice, real nice.”

You were hanging up both of your coats, but you turned to question his sanity, knowing that he likely had storage closets in his home that were bigger and better decorated, when you noticed that he looked a little flushed.

“You ok, Oswald? You look a little-”

“Nah, nah, I’m fine sweetheart! Just came up those stairs a little too quick is all, I’m not no spring chicken remember! And it’s hot! Or is it hot in here?”

“I haven’t had heat in here for a week, landlord is putting it off. But… I can open a window?”

Oswald nodded silently. You couldn’t help but wonder if it was making him nervous, the looming threat of having to kiss you. Or… the anticipation of kissing you? He’d come all the way up here, and you couldn’t help but notice the way his eyes fell on your body, flitting away when he thought you were about to catch him, not realising you already had. The thought alone made you blush, so you turned from him quickly, opening the window above the sink and picking up the bags from the bakery as you took a quiet breath to calm yourself.

“Dessert?”

“Thank you sweetheart, you’re a doll.”

Oswald took his donut with a smile and a gleeful sigh, and you giggled as you pulled yours from the bag. It looked amazing. He’d definitely picked right. And the way he tore into it, devouring almost half of it in one bite with a soft moan, eyes rolling back in his head, you realised how silly you had been earlier to be embarrassed in front of him. You’d only made him feel worse, clearly. Oswald had no issue making a mess of himself in front of you, and he waved his hand, encouraging you to eat, which suggested he had no issue with you making a mess either.

Having been given the permission to do so, you indulged yourself, taking a large bite of donut and with a full mouth, moaning a note of satisfaction. You savoured it on your tongue, and without intending to do so, ran your tongue seductively across your lips to ensure that nothing went to waste. But you were quick to pop it back into your mouth when you noticed Oswald gazing at you intently, his eyes unblinking.

“It could mean anything… it could…”

But you could sense something behind the gaze, something definitely in tune with how you found yourself looking towards him over the course of the evening. Enamoured, potentially even filled with lustful thoughts as he watched you. But the intensity of his stare slowly dissipated, his lips curling up slowly into a gentle smile. The change in expression concerned you, but not enough that you didn’t smile back, finding the bravery to try and ascertain what, exactly, was on his mind.

“What’s up?”

Oswald let out a soft chuckle as he looked to you, covering his mouth as he finished the bite of donut he was working on. The laughter worried you, more than putting you at ease, and you only got more flustered as he reached for you.

“Hang, on sweetheart, you got a little something…”

“What? Oh, shoot, have I made a mess?”

You attempted to wipe at the corners of your mouth, worrying that you were making more of a fool out of yourself the longer it stayed. Taking his thumb, a sweet, mischievous smile on his face, Oswald stroked your cheek, removing the dollop of cream that had found itself there. He held his thumb out, displaying the offending smear to you. Without thinking, and in a move that still confused you even afterwards, when you had time to consider what possessed you to follow through with the action, you leaned forward and wrapped your lips around his thumb, licking the cream from it and sitting back. As soon as you had swallowed the sweet flavour on your tongue, you realised what you had done. Your cheeks flushed a bright pink almost immediately, and your eyes widened, threatening to prickle with tears as you watched Oswald stare back at you in the same silent shock.

��Jesus christ, sweetheart.”

His face was still, mouth straight, eyes wide with disbelief. You couldn’t quite read his tone. You had to say something, anything, to fill the silence. It was too quiet, and the longer it went on, the worst it would be. So you conjured up some words of apology.

“Oh my god, Oswald, I am so sorry! It’s just…”

You weighed up the options before you, and decided to cut all your losses and try making a joke. Be yourself, be goofy, be ‘unrefined’. Be. Yourself.

“... it’s a good donut.”

He laughed, his eyes bright and his smile wide and sincere, soft and gentle, filled with genuine happiness. You were finally getting comfortable around him, and as arousing as it was to have you sucking on his finger, he found it even more tantalising knowing you were finally opening up to him.

“You got more, toots. Hold on, lemme get that. Just a second…”

He fumbled around in his pocket for a moment, pulling out a purple cotton handkerchief, monogrammed in gold, and wiping his brow on it. Sitting down on the sofa, he took a deep breath as he wiped the streak of cream from your cheek, not really listening to you as you spoke.

“Oh, you dropped something, Oswald. Let me get it.”

Bending down to reach for the small, glinting square just below the sofa, you couldn’t help but feel a pang of disappointment.

“... lemme get that…”

You’d been so hopeful that he was going to lean in to kiss you, or, if you could really imagine something so bold, to lick the sweet, sticky mark from your flushed skin. It was beginning to feel like the intentions were never there. He might be attracted to you, you could concede to that by now, but he seemed to be far too much of a gentleman to take things further, especially on the first date.

But just as you silently prayed that there would be a second date, and a third, and, dare you dream, a fourth, your fingers tapped on the metallic wrapper under the chair, picking it up and turning it around as you brought it closer to you.

“Oh, sweetheart, I am… so sorry. You can just give that here.”

Your heart skipped a beat, enough that you found yourself struggling for a breath. Between your fingers, with Oswald reaching for it desperately, you held a condom. It wasn’t exactly a definitive symbol of intent, but it was enough to give you hope. You never imagined that the glint of the golden wrapper could have aroused you so quickly, but it had. And as Oswald took it from you, you found yourself smiling slightly in return to his nervous grin.

“I didn’t mean anything by that, toots… I am so sorry, really.”

“You didn’t mean anything by that?”

Stuttering, letting you see him truly nervous for the first time that evening, he tried to respond.

“Well, uh… n-not nothin’, kid. I mean, it’s there, isn’t it. It was in my pocket. I’m not exactly the kind of guy who walks around with one ‘just in case’.”

“So there was… intent?”

So bold, but so nervous, and yet you kept prodding him for more information. The way his cheeks and nose had begun to turn pink let you feel an ounce of control, like you were finally able to take charge.

“So… a gentleman like you doesn’t carry them around for nothing, but he’s smart enough to be prepared on the off chance…?”

You spoke so softly, so slowly, sultry and sweet, enough that Oswald’s smile began to spread out, realising that you weren’t put off by his little faux pas. Regaining his composure, he returned to his usual, composed self and shuffled forward on the sofa towards you.

“I do like to plan for every eventuality. I go out on a date with a beautiful dame, I don’t expect anything in return. But I’d be damned if I showed up to your place and had to turn down any opportunity.”

Your own confidence was dwindling, if only slightly, and you broke the facade of the flirtatious tease to beg for some reassurance, as subtly as you could.

“And… you hoped for an opportunity… with me?”

You hadn’t known Oswald for very long, but it felt like he could read you like a book. He clapped his hand over his mouth and drew it down, shaking his head as he looked over your body.

“Are you kidding, toots?”

“I guess… I just wasn’t sure if I’d be what you… expected… or wanted…”

“We lookin’ at the same thing here? You think I wasn’t hoping for even just a chance? With that face? And those legs?And that ass? And that sweet, cushiony stomach you got? All wrapped in that fuckin’ dress? Oh, ho, ho, don’t ven get me started on the dress.”

Finally believing that Oswald had consciously and willingly chosen you, you decided to take what you wanted, or at least, ask for it nicely.

“Actually… I think I would like to get you started.”

With a coy smile, you batted your eyelashes at him, and he moved forward to the edge of the sofa, his hands lifting yours from your sides and kissing the knuckles.

“I’m glad you wore it. I didn’t wanna make a big deal outta it, felt like I was being controlling or something… And I knew if I told you how good it looked on you, I just wouldn’t stop. Wouldn’t have been right for me to spend an hour of our date telling you how I liked the way the fabric hung on you…”

He pulled you closer, tugging on your hands, lifting them again and turning them over to kiss your wrists. One placed on each one, a shiver coursing through your veins.

“... how each little curve, each bit of you is highlighted, teasing me, begging me to run my hands over them and feel them…”

Oswald’s hands skimmed over the ridges and curves of your sides, palms pressing into each of the outward bulges of soft flesh as he moaned in appreciation. The sounds he made were muffled by your neck, where his lips were held in a flurry of passionate kisses, his tongue lapping over your skin as he tasted you, savoured you. Each pause to catch his breath he spent whispering his intentions and desires for the evening.

“... how warm you look, how you would feel…”

His hands moved around to your lower back, fingers hovering there before he let them slip down, palms over your cheeks, cupping at your rear. He pulled you slightly, knocking you off balance, stumbling and almost falling onto him, your breasts making contact with his face before you steadied yourself. But Ozzie leant forward, placing his prominent, distinct nose between your breasts, then his cheeks, moaning and sighing as the soft, gentle and ample tissue that comforted him.

The haze of arousal came over you, your body no longer being controlled by your overthinking brain, your desires free to rule, and your hands found his thick thighs, travelling up them until your fingers struck the metal of his belt buckle, quickly, but not effectively. Taking his hands from you, Oswald lifted yours from him, unbuckling the belt on his own. His eyes flitted up to meet yours as he unzipped his fly, eyebrows raising in a question. You answered with a smile and a subtle nod, trying to decide whether it would be polite to watch or look away, but found your eyes trained to the spot. Breath hitching. Mouth falling open ever so slightly as he took his cock out, average in length, but thick, already stiff in his hand.

Ozzie’s hands were back on you, his fingers tickling at the back of your thigh, gently edging you closer to him, pushing up the skirt of your dress, exposing more of your skin. Under the fabric, his thumb hooked onto the waistband of your underwear, teasing your panties down as he chuckled, lustfully.

“You wanna take a seat, let me see if you feel how I thought?”

Usually, you’d worry about the position, the weight, the worry that you wouldn’t look good in position, that having someone look up at you would only highlight your double chin. But, strangely enough, not only did you not care when those thoughts quickly entered your conscience, you got excited over them, the notion that your body would be there, viewed, and worshipped by Oswald Cobblepot, of all people.

As you began to lower yourself down, he motioned for you to pause for a moment, reaching to the other side of the sofa and picking up the condom. He pursed his lips as he rolled it down over his thick length, leaning back as you eased down onto it. The moment it touched against your lips, filling you, inch by inch, until your thighs were settled against his.

Straddling him, you felt his hands cupping at your thighs, caressing down your back, gently grabbing at you to pull you closer and assist in your movements. He couldn’t settle on a place to touch you, his hands taking in every inch of your body, fingers digging into your thighs and moving to your hips to cling to you, moving you back and forth as you rocked yourself on his cock. Each motion felt better than anything had before, each soft groan he made, the way his lips curled into a snarling grin with pleasure sending you further into ecstasy.

His hands travelled to the nape of your neck, curving round your shoulders and peeling at the thin straps of the dress, watching the silk fabric slip down over your chest, eventually exposing your breasts to him. With no effort to hold back his boyish glee, he threw his head back and moaned.

“Mother of god you look fuckin’ fantastic!”

While you rolled your hips forwards and backwards, relishing in the feeling of his cock twitching inside of you, Oswald’s large fingers pinched each of your nipples, teasing at them as he licked his lips, delighting in the way it made you whine, biting down on your lower lip, your smile still visible.

The movements between you were frantic, reaching the apex of the heated moment you were sharing. As the climax approached, you felt Oswald move his hand from you, bringing it down in a swift, sharp cracking motion against your upper thigh, his fingers settling on your rear as he gripped and winked.

“You think you can get a little bit faster, toots? A bit dirtier to see me through?”

By the time he was finished speaking you were already rutting into him, animalistic as you determined to give him what he wanted. He was hardly a gentleman now, as he smacked your ass, jutting his hips upwards, pumping his length inside of you as he wailed out.

“That’s it, baby… good girl, good girl, god, you’re such a good girl for me, huh? Oh yeah… fuck… fuck!”

He pulled you onto his chest, still inside of you as he thrust his hips up, firmly, but slowly, letting your top half rest against him as you felt him cumming, then relaxing, holding you on him, still inside of you. You had no intentions of moving, until he decided it was uncomfortable. You were content to be balanced precariously on his body, your toes pushing you up from the floor, face resting against his still clothed chest, listening to him hum in satisfaction as he caught his breath.

Letting out a soft chuckle, he leaned down to kiss your head, stroking your hair as he settled back down flat.

“Every eventuality, kid. As if this wasn’t what I wanted all along.”

#reeves!verse #finnie writes #oswald cobblepot #the penguin #the batman 2022 #colin farrell penguin #the batman fanfic #the batman 2022 fic #oswald cobblepot x reader #oswald cobblepot x you

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facioleeknow · 8 months ago

Text

Time for love ° Hwang Hyunjin

Hyunjin. the immortal Adonis, falls for a human.

WC: 2094 Genre: Greek mythology AU, angst, smut

TW: make up artist reader, model hyunjin, smut, masturbation, thigh riding, handjob, mention of cum, borderline asshole hyunjin, greek gods and goddesses, mention of blood, angry hyunjin and angry deities

AN: thank you from th ebottom of my heart to th elovely @leeknowsallyoursecrets , for giving me her opinion about this.

My Kofi if you want to support me <3.

Hyunjin was old. Hyunjin was really really old. Eternal youth they called it. When one thinks about youth, they imagine freshness and fun; a colorful, colorful phase when you get to try new things and explore the world. Hyunjin’s life was anything but; he had seen every corner of this earth and tried every experience that was humanly possible. His life was flat and gray, there was nothing more to do and he was bored.

He remembered his first life. His name was Adonis and he was considered the most beautiful man in the whole world; he was so beautiful that goddesses soon appeared on his doorstep and asked to share his bed. That’s how his story became myth, or what people thought it was.

He had lived many lives from then, he had taken many names and done many things, he lived a tranquil life and minded his business; had sometimes taken a couple of lovers but nothing that had stuck to him.

His life and pattern of change had come crumbling apart when one day the gods decided to come out in the open and introduce themselves to humans. With time everything was uncovered and the protagonists of every myth became their own kind of celebrities. He had never been more famous in his life, but he also had never been more lonely. He was beautiful and that was a fact, and with the fame came the modeling offers. He modeled for the most famous maisons of fashion of the world and people loved him. No they didn’t love him, they loved his body, they loved his face, they loved his fake smile and fake confidence.

His days were always the same, he would wake up at an insane hour, get on set, get ready, shoot, get unready, check social media and then go to bed, just to do it all the following day. Day after day the cycle had never been broken, for years on end. Until it had.

When he walked inside the photo studio, he could sense something had shifted in the air. He hated changes. A heavy hand smoothed back his unruly hair, his eyes closed almost on instinct after he sat down in his makeup chair. He had requested a special chair, made of one of the softest furs he had ever touched, where he could sleep and relax.

Something warm and small suddenly touched his shoulder, hesitantly. He hissed and his eyes shot open, his staff knew better than to interfere with his pattern.

His breath hitched in his throat when he opened his eyes. This wasn’t his usual make-up artist.

“Sorry to disturb you Mr. Hwang, I am Y/N L/N, your new makeup artist,” your voice was sweet, way too sweet to be human, but he knew all deities by heart. Perhaps some kind of creature.

“What happened to Ha-na?” his eyes bore holes into your skull, his gaze held a fiery passion you had never seen in your life. Is this how an immortal looks?, you thought.

“She’s on maternity leave, sir,” you had never felt that nervous in your life.

The conversation died off after that but his eyes were fixed on you. There was something about you that Hyunjin couldn't quite pinpoint, his inside felt like they were lit on fire. His head told him that if he looked away from you, something bad would've happened. He had to have you, one way or another, he didn't even care if you were human or not.

Since that day Hyunjin had always waited anxiously for your arrival every morning. You would always greet him with a tight lipped smile while you closed into fists your obvious shaky hands. He liked to think your hands were shaking and your heart was beating out of your chest because of him.

At night Hyunjin would lie awake and think about you, your hair, your lips, your hands, your eyes, but most of the time he would think about what laid under your clothes, how your curves would look and how they would feel in his big and soft hands.

He had to have you, he didn't care if you were human or not.

The second time Hyunjin spoke to you, it was weeks after your first encounter.

“What are you?” his eyes bored into yours like the first time you met.

“What do you mean sir?”

His presence felt almost overbearing, it looked like he was towering over you, it felt like he was everywhere, you couldn't run from him. But in reality he was still sitting in front of you.

“Don't play coy. What kind of creature are you?”

“Creature? I'm human, sir,” your eyes wide as saucers at his assumption. You? A supernatural creature?

“Are you lying to me?” His tone was stern and demanding.

“No, sir, I would never.”

He didn't reply.

He was scary. Immortals were scary and dangerous for humans more than anyone else. You should've been fearful of him but a familiar throb between your legs kept growing and growing and you couldn't help but feel ashamed.

Hyunjin could feel your arousal, he could read it on your face. After centuries he could read human emotions quite well.

“Everybody out!” His tone left no space for arguments. The staff and photographers scurried out of the room with their hearts in their throats.

“Come sit.” The immortal patted his spread legs, his big hand encased your wrist.

“Excuse me?”

“You don't want to?” he sounded cocky now, a new emotion he let you see.

“I didn't say that,” you stuttered.

“Then be a good girl and straddle my thigh.”

His hands never left your body, not even when you complied and positioned yourself how he asked. He was in control, he was the one guiding your movement.

A small gasp escaped your lips when you felt him ground you on his strong thigh.

“Please sir, touch me,” the shame fueled your pleasure like never before.

“No can do, get yourself off like this or don't at all.”

That was the best orgasm of your life.

After he touched you, Hyunjin couldn't get enough of you. He thought your voice was sweet at first, but your moans were even sweeter, your skin tasted like nectar and your pussy like ambrosia. He was addicted.

Sleep came easier to him now but not even in your dreams he could escape you. Your voice, your sweet whines, your skin, your scent, they all clouded his brain even in his slumber. He'd wake up hard as a rock every night and leaking. He would fuck his fist roughly, just how he liked it, he would use all of his toys and cum again and again until his seed had permanently stained his satin black sheets. But it wasn't enough. It was never enough. He had to feel you clench around him, he had to feel you rake your nails down his back, he had to push your legs to your chest and see fat tears roll down your cheeks.

So he would get up and drive to your house where he would fuck you until you both passed out. It became some sort of routine, one that he followed religiously. But the more he saw the bigger a foreign and strange feeling grew inside him. It started at the pit of his stomach and then spread through his chest like a warm blanket enveloping him in a tight hug. It was comforting and that unsettled him.

He was confused and ignorant, he hated that. But he knew that it didn't come from him, somebody was attacking him. That's how Hyunjin found himself in front of the goddess of love, Aphrodite, herself.

“What have you done to me?” he yelled. He knew yelling at a deity was not a smart move but the anger was consuming him, mixing with that strange feeling and making his blood hot.

“You cursed me, didn't you? You cursed me because I don't want to share a bed with you anymore, you selfish woman.” The moment those words came out of HYunjin’s mouth he regretted them. The room started shaking along with the anger of the goddess, everybody knew not to anger Aphrodite. he was foolish, he thought he could get away with it because he used to be her favorite lover. The goddess grew in stature, the light bulbs in the room exploded, leaving the only light her angry eyes.

“You foolish human, how dare you speak to me like this,” this was not Aphrodite the goddess of love, this was the goddess of fiery passion and victory, “ I did not curse you. You do not hold significance in my eyes anymore, you are a mere human. Humans all fall in love, it’s their destiny.”

The walls of the pristine white room they were in started to crack under the gravity of the goddess full immortal form. Hyunjin knew that the fact he was not dead meant that Aphrodite let him live as a sign of charity and because of the time they shared their bed. But she did not give second chances, she never had so he quickly kneeled and when he felt the presence of the immortal get gradually less overbearing he got up and walked backwards until back hit the door as a sign of respect and then left.

The drive home was pure madness, flashes of rage traveled through his body like lightning before leaving like nothing had happened. Hera was punishing him for angering her daughter, nothing was less expected from the goddess of family. When he stumbled into his house, with shaky hands he grabbed his ceremonial cup and offered his bloods to the gods to appease them and as a thanks for sparing his life.

The following day Hyunjin avoided looking at you in the eyes, he had never looked away from you, not even once. You were so used to having his fiery gaze on you that now your whole body felt cold as ice.

‘Maybe he’s tired,’ you thought while you worked. Tired or not, you felt him miles away from you even if you were touching his skin with your very own hands. Something had shifted between you.

The next day felt like a deja vù, Hyunjin still had his eyes closed and he still refused to talk to you. You felt wronged and cold. The following days followed the same pattern, it felt like a terrible nightmare. His nightly visits had also stopped and so did his texts.

Anger and frustration were eating away at you. Work had started to get tougher and Hyunjin’s attitude was making your mental health drop. The last straw was the pouring rain, you were stranded at work, with no umbrella, when all you wanted to do was go home, eat ice cream and sleep.

Fat teardrops started dropping down your cheeks, why was this all happening to you? Why couldn’t you live in peace? Why was Hwang Hyunjin doing this to you?

“Are you crying?” That voice. Hwang Hyunjin.

“That’s none of your business, Hyunjin,” you furiously wiped at your cheeks.

“It is,” his hand cupped your cheek and you had no strength to fight it, “ it is because you are the only woman i’ve ever loved in my long life.” Your breath hitched in your throat.

“Say that again.”

“You, “ he paused, “ are the only wo-”

You didn’t give him the chance to finish his sentence, your lips attached to his and you richest deflated with relief. Kissing him felt familiar and natural. The recognizable desire that always lit within you when you were with him started spreading through you like wildfire. Your hands quickly traveled to his pants and unbuttoned his pants without thinking, you had done that countless times. His dick was already hard and leaking, waiting for you. Your soft hand wrapped around his velvety skin and tugged and moved just how you knew he liked, how you knew drove him mad. Your lips found his neck and nipped and sucked at his pulse point, his weak spot.

“Oh, baby, I’m not going to last, I think I’m cumming.”

A quick swipe of your thumb against his slip made him spill all over your hand, his head thrown back in ecstasy and his eyes tightly shut.

“You’re gonna be the death of me, lover, but first let me return the favor.”

A hand on his chest stopped him.

“Take me on a date first.”

“Whatever you want, lover.”

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flufffilleddonut · 1 month ago

Text

Triangulum Experimentum

Summary - While working on the portal’s blueprints, an accidental discovery quickly derails Ford and Bill’s plans for progress.

Word Count - 1650

Note - This fic was written for Day 15 (“Are you ticklish?”) of Tickletober 2024.

Stanford Pines was in the mindscape, a void of space containing distant stars and galaxies. Floating journals, books and scrolls filled the immediate area, along with other items familiar to Ford. This place existed in his head, after all.

Ford would have been all alone here, if it hadn't been for the company of his muse, Bill Cipher.

The two were working on equations and mathematical formulas together, pertaining to the portal that Ford was currently building, under Bill’s direction. The portal was nearing completion, and would soon be ready for testing.

Bill carefully observed the calculations projected in the space, searching for any errors or possible areas of improvement. Ford, standing near the dream demon, was scribbling furiously on a piece of parchment with an old-fashioned feather quill.

“Everything looks fine to me, Sixer. Are you sure you need to alter the blueprints?” Bill inquired, still scanning over their handiwork.

Ford continued to scrawl away, determined to improve the device.

“I think there’s a way to make the gateway more stable. I just have to figure out the right equation.”

“Whatever gets you there, Fordsy.” Bill commented, his eye still trained on the projections.

A moment of silence passed between the two, before being broken by Ford, who finally came up with a solid equation.

“Aha!” He cried out. “I think I’ve done it! Bill, take a look at-”

As Ford began to move toward Bill, eager to show off his work, a journal happened to float directly in the path of his legs. As Ford stepped forwards, he tripped on the object, losing his balance and lurching forwards.

Bill turned just in time to see Ford fall. As Ford did so, however, his arms flailed outwards, the one holding the quill being extended towards Bill. The feather made contact, swiftly brushing down the length of Bill’s side as Ford went down.

As the soft object glided across Bill, he felt an internal ‘shock’ of sorts run through the area of contact. Seemingly automatically, he jerked back, a small chuckle escaping.

“Hah!”

“Bill! Are you alright?” Ford asked, pushing up his glasses as he reorientated himself.

Bill, confused about what had just happened, shook the event from his mind momentarily to address Ford.

“‘Course I am! You can’t get hurt in the mindscape, remember?”

Ford was still concerned.

“I know,” He began, “but you seemed to recoil when the quill…”

Ford trailed off, eyeing the feathery instrument in his hand. He looked back at Bill, who was floating indifferently.

No, it can’t be…

“Bill, are you… ticklish?” Ford questioned.

Bill squinted, unfamiliar with the term.

“T… tick…?”

“Ticklish. You know… knismesis and gargalesis?”

Bill stared blankly.

“It’s this thing where if someone makes contact with you in a certain way, it makes you laugh, and your body sort of… spasms.” Ford explained.

Bill chuckled in response. “Humans sure do have the most useless reflexes! It's hilarious!”

“That’s why I’m wondering how you experienced it.” Ford stated. “Could it be an effect of my dream on the mindscape? Or something else?”

As Ford pondered, Bill leaned back, crossing his legs and placing his hands behind his top point as he bobbed up and down in the air.

“Bill, would you mind if I tested a few things? Just to collect some data. I promise it won’t take that long.”

Bill stopped. He was hesitant to relive the event that had just occurred moments prior, but this was probably the closest he’d ever gotten to having someone fully construct his portal. Getting on Ford’s bad side at this stage in the game would result in a lot of wasted progress. Besides, Bill found pain to be hilarious! This couldn’t be all that different.

“Sure thing! Knock yourself out, Sixer. Just as long as you get back to work on the portal right after.”

“Great!” Ford exclaimed, beaming. He let go of the parchment, which floated off into the distance.

Bill’s ankle was suddenly seized, with Ford then pulling the triangle closer to his body. Bill dangled upside-down as Ford secured his grasp around the ankle.

Still clutching the quill, Ford positioned the feather-end so that it was hovering just above Bill’s foot.

“Test one, commencing… now.” Ford made contact, gently swirling the feather in circles over the small, black surface.

There it was again! Bill, almost instinctively, started kicking his free leg as the same sensation from before now radiated over his foot. Light giggles bubbled up.

“I see that you’re struggling.” Ford noted. “Does that mean you’re feeling something?”

“Nohot on puhurpose.” Bill giggled. “Ihit’s the sahame feelihing from befohore, but lehess intehense.”

“Are you giggling voluntarily?” Ford asked, continuing to swirl the feather.

“Noho I’m nohot! Thihis isn’t vehery fuhunny!” Bill lightly pulled at his ankle, but Ford’s grip was firm. His other leg continued to kick freely.

Ford couldn’t help but smirk to himself.

Maybe not to you.

“Alright, let’s try somewhere else.”

Ford pulled back the feather, giving Bill time to calm down. He then moved it to Bill’s side, against which he began to glide the feather up and down at a steady pace.

Bill’s eye widened as he got a brief glimpse of the intensity of the feeling at his side, this time being deliberately produced. He quickly grabbed onto the feather with his hands, moving it out and away from his body.

Ford chucked.

“Bihill, I’m trying to run an experiment here. I can’t complete it and get back to work on the portal if you’re going to resist.”

Bill could sense a slight hint of tease in Ford’s tone. He imagined all of the monstrosities that he could unleash onto Ford for putting him through this. However, he didn’t want to do anything that could jeopardize the portal’s production. Narrowing his eye at Ford, Bill slowly released the feather.

Once free, Ford returned the object to Bill’s side, continuing the same motion as before.

Bill burst out laughing.

“Hah ha hah! Ahahaha! Whyhy ihis thihis eheven a thihing?” He questioned, drawing his three free limbs in towards himself.

“Well, the most popular theory is that it was developed as a means of learning self-defense. Hence, why more vulnerable areas of the body tend to be more sensitive.” Ford explained, keeping up his motions with the feather.

“Yohou’re, ha, enjohoying yohourself, hah ha, too muhuch, Sihixer!” Bill managed to comment through his laughter.

Ford chuckled.

“Bill, tell me, which is worse? Here~…” Ford slowly dragged the feather down Bill’s side, “or here~?” Ford used his sixth (pinky) finger to lift up Bill’s elbow, effectively raising his arm and allowing the feather access to his underarm. Ford swiftly moved the feather into the area, swiping it repeatedly against the surface.

Bill’s laughter became more frantic.

“HaH! AhAHah! TheHEre! ThAHats muhUHUch woHOrse!”

“Good to know.” Ford said, grinning. He pulled back the quill, tossing it aside to float off into the distance, and dug into Bill’s side and underarm with his six-fingered hand.

Bill was overcome with hysterics, as he quickly learned that fingers tickle a lot more than feathers do.

“AHAHAHA! SIHIHIXEHER! HAHAHA!”

Bill noted through his haze that Ford showed no signs of stopping anytime soon, and at this point was clearly just having fun torturing the dream demon. Bill recognized that he wouldn’t be able to endure it for much longer.

“ENOHOHOUGH!” Bill yelled out, his yellow surface turning red and the colours of his limbs, hat and eye inverting.

Ford, taking Bill’s outburst as a sign that he was reaching his limit, removed his hand and released Bill’s ankle.

Bill spun himself upside-right, moving backwards and out of arm's reach from Ford. He hovered for a moment, recovering, before his colours faded back to normal.

Ford smiled weakly at Bill as he spoke.

“Bill, I’d like to test just one more-”

“No.”

“I promise it’s just one last small thing.”

“I’m warning you, Sixer. You better watch it.”

“I’ll get straight to work on the portal right after! You can hold me to that.”

Bill narrowed his eye at Ford, who flashed an innocent look in return.

“Fine.” Bill conceded, crossing his arms.

He floated closer to Ford, who grabbed hold of him before propping him up on one arm. With the other, Ford directed his hand to the brick in Bill’s pattern directly below his bowtie. He then wiggled his six fingers up against the area, being careful to support Bill with his other arm.

Bill curled in towards himself as the action elicited a steady stream of giggles from the triangle. He uncrossed his arms, lightly grabbing onto Ford’s sleeve as his legs fluttered.

Ford continued for a minute or two before slowing his hand to a stop. Bill remained on his arm for a moment, in a fuzzy daze, before shaking his mind clear and floating up and off to the side.

Bill adjusted his bowtie before speaking.

“Did you get your data, Sixer?” Staring Ford in the face, his expression and tone were dripping with sarcasm.

Ford averted his eyes, smiling sheepishly.

“Uh, yeah, yeah I did. Thanks for participating. Though I may have gotten a bit carried away…” He mumbled his last sentence.

Ford glanced around before becoming visibly concerned.

“No! My equation! The paper must have floated away! I’ll never find it now.”

“Hey, I’ve got a question.”

Ford looked over at Bill, who completely disregarded his statement and was now slowly floating in his direction.

“Do you experience the spasm reflex, Fordsy?”

Ford’s eyes widened. He began moving backwards.

“You know what, it’s been great here Bill, but I think that I should head back to my reality and finish up the portal.”

Bill stopped moving.

“Attaboy, Sixer. Attaboy.”

Ford then woke up with a start. He placed his hand on his head and gave a sigh of relief.

That was a close one.

#gravity falls tickle #ler!ford #lee!bill #augtickletober2024 #tickletober 2024

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descendantsramblings · 3 months ago

Note

Hook and morgie Seperate x Fem!chubby reader who is insecure?

For the sake of this being easy to navigate by how I do my theme I’m doing this in two posts but I promise you, I am answering them both.

Find Morgie's half of this request here.

Red Dress

James Hook x Chubby!Reader

Pronouns used: she/her/hers

Summary: He just wanted to make sure that Castlecoming would be perfect, what would catch people's attention more than them perfectly matching? Who would have thought he'd upset her with his choice of dress?

Warnings: body image issues, Hook is a little possessive, Suggestive comments but they're meant to be playful and teasing not as something to take seriously, reader is implied to dress a touch alternative, she calls Hook baby + Hook canon pet names

Word Count: 1.7K

“Just give me your size and I’ll buy your dress for castlecoming.” She should have known he’d do something like this. Hook wasn’t exactly blind when it came to fashion, the girl knew that. God knew he could spend just about as much as she could in a makeup store. But he was also a man, even worse a teenage boy. She should have known letting him pick her dress would lead to her in something straight out of one of his fantasies. The silky maroon slip dress was exactly something he’d pick. Leaving the girl perfectly replicating the color of his signature jacket, knowing the pirate he’d held the fabrics up to his sleeve to get the best color match he could. He would eat it up, the dress being just another reminder to onlookers that she was spoken for. His, the lady of the Captain, not a treasure to be stolen. But the cowl neckline drew far too much attention to her chest, the silky fabric clinging far too closely to her stomach. She hated it, everything about the dress would bring your eyes to everywhere she didn’t want people looking with nothing to hide behind.

The door behind her creaks open as she stares in the mirror, changing angles in hopes of finding a way to look at the thing that made her feel at least slightly presentable. “Alright, where’s my darling gi- Why aren’t you ready?” The boy cuts himself off, crossing his arms as he frowns. He looked near charming, decked out in a matching maroon blazer and a silky white button up. A black tie around his neck with red and white boutonniere pinned to the lapel of the jacket, fresh baby's breath and a carnation making up the little arrangement. She can see a clear plastic container in his hand holding a matching corsage that warms her heart a touch. With black slacks capped off by a pair of dress shoes instead of his normal boots. James Hook looked absolutely dashing tonight, and it only made her feel worse. “I can’t,” she nearly croaks, shaking her head as she gestures over herself. “You can’t what, Love? What’s wrong?” He places the container of flowers down on her desk walking over to rest a hand on her shoulder.

“James, look at me. I get your vision and maybe if I was smaller it would-” He puts a finger to her lips shaking his head, “Do not start with that. I don’t want to hear anything about you needing to be smaller. I picked that one because I knew you would look hot, and you do. The way that dress is hugging you makes me not want to take you somewhere some other bloke can see you. He’ll try to steal you right off of me.” He presses a kiss to her cheek, walking over to her closet, “Tell me what exactly is bothering you and we can find something to fix it.” “Hook we can’t fix all of me, the dance would be over by about two years if we did.” He turns, pointing the golden appendage at her, “Don’t call me that and stop talking badly about my lass. Now, chest, tummy, legs, what’s making us not like the super hot dress I picked out?” She huffs, crossing her arms over herself as she falls into her desk chair, spinning it ever so slightly with her foot. “My chest and stomach, this fabric clings to them in all the wrong ways.”

He nods, shuffling through the hangers in front of him as he searches for something, “I can help with that. Thank you for deciding to actually be helpful.” Her lips fall open and her eyebrows raise, “I can just stay here if you want to act like that.” Hook hums, pulling a hanger from the closet and setting something black out on her bed. “You will be staying here if you don’t start your hair and makeup. Now, chop chop, I want something pretty to mess up later.” He cuts his eyes to her as he says it, watching the way his lover’s face flushes at the filthy comment, her hands moving to slide open the drawer she keeps her makeup in. “You are vile, James Hook.” “Perhaps, but it got you to do what I wanted, did it not?”

As (Y/n) busies herself on her makeup, James continues to go through her closet, finding her signature black boots in the bottom of it and taking them over to where he’d laid her leather jacket, letting them fall to the floor beside the bed. Hook crosses the room swiftly, searching through her dresser drawers to find a pair of tights. He'd prefer those small hole fishnets that made it hard to keep his hands off her legs but he’d take what he could get. Something to make her look more her own style in the dress he oh so adored on her. He thought the way it hung on her made her otherworldly, but he needed her to feel beautiful in it. It doesn’t matter how he feels about the outfit if she hated it. After about ten minute of him searching through her sock drawer she speaks up, finished with her base by this point. “If you’re looking to steal panties, you’re in the wrong drawer.” His eyes roll, chuckling as he turns to her, “Where are those fishnets I like on you? The one with the little holes.”

“Top drawer, to the left of it. Black or red eyeshadow?” He moves to grab the handle, “Red, do eyeliner and a black lip with it though. And if you can add some white in there, do it.” He finally finds the stupid tights he’d spent so long searching for, throwing them over his arm as he slides the drawer closed. The little cherry wood jewelry box that sat on the girl’s dresser was overflowing, his own doing of course. Hook couldn’t help but bring her some sort of spoils every time that he came back from a voyage, the look in her eyes always seemed to be priceless, you couldn’t show him something better. He takes it over to her bed with him, falling onto the plush comforter and laying the tights on her jacket as he opens the box. He took a few ruby rings from the box, laying them with everything else he’d picked for her. A silver chain that hung close to her neck when it was on, a singular onyx stone embedded in it. A pair of silver hoop earrings join the ever growing pile he was building. And if he knew her, there would be a string of pearls in the second drawer, the one she considered her special section of the box. It was the first of many presents he’d given her, and by far the most expensive of them. She’d only worn it once, the first time he put it on her.

James smiles, getting up to stand behind her, necklace hanging from his hook. She was applying mascara, making a concentrated and wide mouthed expression in the mirror as he undoes the clasp of the necklace. “How are you doing your hair?” He drapes the delicate string around her neck, brushing her hair off her neck so he can clasp it. “Oh I don’t,” her hand comes up to brush over the pearls, black nails a stark contrast against them, “I’m not sure.” He hums, reaching for her lipstick as he kneels in front of her, “Well, I have everything else you need out, so how about you let me finish this for you while you start your hair?” She nods, mumbling a soft “please” as she moves her hands to mess with her hair. He can’t help the smile on his face as he looks at her, she’s gorgeous.

˚୨୧⋆｡˚ ⋆˚୨୧⋆｡˚ ⋆˚୨୧⋆

Hook sits in her desk chair, tapping his foot impatiently as she finishes getting dressed. He wanted to see her, knowing she looked good but not looking at her was driving him mad. “About done, Love?” She laughs, and he knows that she’s shaking her head at him. “You can turn around now.” (Y/n) was always stunning, but there decked out in his colors with that silk framing her just right, he was putty in her hands. “Have you seen how gorgeous you look yet?” He grabs the corsage from its packaging as he speaks, making his way up to his date. “I’m scared to look. What if I look silly?” James uses his hook to lift her hand, sliding the flowers around her left wrist with his good hand. “You, my love,” he kisses the back of her hand, keeping hold of it as he stands straight again, “Could never look silly. Now, turn around and look at my amazing handiwork so I can drag you out of this little room.” His hands spin her around as he speaks, the boy standing firmly behind her with his hands planted on her shoulders.

Her eyes flicker over her own reflection, looking herself up and down with a softly growing smile. “You know baby, I don’t actually think you should stay a pirate.” He hums, leaning over her shoulder to press a kiss to her cheek, “Is that so?” She nods, leaning back into the boy’s adoring touch. “I think you should definitely be a women’s stylist. Look at what you did.” “I have a perfect model,” he mumbles into her hair, letting his hand slide down her leather clad arm. The boy had perfectly managed to mask her insecurities. The jacket giving her a crutch to hide behind and shadow over her and her accessories made it feel more her. The string of pearls and onyx complimenting each other in such a way that you didn’t bother to look at the neckline of her dress, far too distracted by the jewels. It was a nearly perfect outfit. Who taught him that? She decided she probably didn’t want to know, that could be his secret. His lips move down to her ear, whispering, “Now, if you want anyone to actually see us, we have to go. I want to go wow the crowd.” She lets a giggle escape her lips, turning to kiss his cheek, smiling at the mark she leaves on it, “Thank you.” In response, he just smiles at her, grabbing her hand to drag her out of the room. She had been calmed down, now it was time for him to show his girl off- and he couldn’t wait.

#descendants #descendants imagines #descendants rise of red #descendants fanfiction #descendants x reader #james hook #james hook fanfic #james hook x reader

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