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golden1u5t · 6 months ago

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skip dinner | s.r x fem!reader

ꨄ requested: anonymous(3 request rolled into one)

ꨄ genre: smut smut smut

ꨄ summary: you wanted to have a big romantic night for spencer but that was cut short when he couldn’t keep his hands off of you.

ꨄ a/n: this is literally 2,369 words of pure smut… i feel dirty after writing this.

it wasn’t originally supposed to go this way, you had a big night planned for him. you planned for dinner to be done and set out on the table so you could have a romantic dinner, then you wanted to have a nice bath, and finally, end the night with a couple hours of slow sex.

all of that was shortly lived as soon as spencer walked through the kitchen door and saw you bent over to pull something out of the oven. since the shirt you had on was too big for you, when you bent over it pooled around your waist and exposed the pair of lacy panties you were wearing. thoughts of dinner went out the window for spencer at that moment.

“what about- fuck- what about dinner?” you lightly hissed when spencer grazed his teeth over your pulse point, your fingers tightening in his hair in response. he had pinned you against the counter, his hands on your hips to keep you from moving, before you could even get the pot off the stove.

“after this, just need you.” he rushed out before lifting his head from the crook of your neck and pressing your lips together. spencer’s hands traveled around your body and gripped your thighs, lifting you up with surprising ease. once he was sure your limbs were securely wrapped around his body, he stepped back from the counter and began making his way to the living room.

you broke away from the kiss when spencer sat down on the couch, repositioning your legs in a more comfortable position. your movements were frantic as you both tore each others clothes off, your arms bumped into each other as you went to unbutton his jeans and he went to pull your shirt over your head.

once you got the big clothes out of the way, you pulled his boxers down just enough to pull his cock out. spencer held your hips to help you steady yourself as you lifted yourself onto your knees and pulled your panties to the side, using your other hand to guide his cock to your entrance.

“wait- wait, we don't have a condom.” he gripped your hips tighter to stop you from lowering down on his cock. you shook your head and pressed your lips against his for a brief moment, you had forgotten all about the fact you started birth control. it wasn’t something you and spencer had discussed beforehand because you had been using condoms since you started dating but recently you had been catching yourself wondering what it would feel like to not have that layer of latex between you, what it would feel like to have spencer cum in you and not a condom.

“we don’t need it, i started birth control.”

“why- when did you-“

you cut him off by pressing your lips to his, not being up for all the questions he was ready to ask. “later, spence, just let me fuck you.”

he let out a soft whine and nodded his head quickly, loosening his hold on your hips so you could move freely again.

spencer’s head lowered as his focus zeroed in on your hand wrapped around his cock, watching the way you tilted your hips just slightly as you began to lower yourself down. he watched each inch of his cock disappear into your cunt and the sight could make his head swarm.

when you lowered yourself down far enough you let go of his cock and placed our hands on his shoulders to steady yourself better. you sat down on his lap completely, your ass flush against his thighs, and stilled for a minute to give you both some time to adjust. the living room was silent aside from the sound of the deep breaths coming from both of you, neither of you said a word as you tried to ground yourself from the feeling of each other.

your body was heating up from the inside out with each second spencer touched you, you could hear your heart beating in your ears. you were sure you would never get over the feeling of being with spencer, you would never get over the feeling of him being inside of you, never get over the feeling of his lips against yours, his hands on your skin.

spencer had never really considered having sex without a condom because since having sex became such a regular thing for him, he got used to them, but as soon as he felt you without it he knew he could never go back to using them, not when he now knew what you really felt like.

you dropped your head down on spencers shoulder and expertly rolled your hips forward before lifting yourself up slightly and dropping back down. spencers fingers curled into your skin as you found a pace that was comfortable for you, his head falling back against the couch cushions. soon enough the sound of your moans started to blend together until you could hardly tell which ones were coming from you and which were coming from him.

lifting your head, you brought a hand up and directed spencers head back towards you so you could kiss him. your lips mended together in a messy kiss but neither of you could really keep up with it, you ran your tongue over his bottom lip before pressing it into his mouth. both of your tongues explored each others mouths as if it was the first time you’d ever done so.

you both fought for dominance that neither of you won because eventually the kiss became just you and him panting, moaning, and occasionally cursing against each others lips. you ran your hand over the back of his neck and tangled your fingers into the short hairs at the nape of his neck, tugging at it every time you lowered yourself back on his cock.

“oh my god- you feel so good.” spencer whined as his hips slowly stuttered up off the couch, he began to meet you halfway. spencer was trying to be as normal as he could about this, trying not to cum so quick, but the thought of finally being able to cum inside of you was doing him in faster than he expected. he could feel your arousal leaking down his cock and it was driving him insane.

you opened your eyes to see his face twisted in nothing but pleasure, his eyebrows furrowed deeply, his lips parted as moan after moan traveled past them, and a blush coating his cheeks. it was a beautiful sight and you wished you had a photographic memory so you could remember the expression of pleasure etched across his face.

just as you felt spencer’s thrust start to falter you leaned forward and ghosted your lips over the shell of his ear, starting to ride him faster and harder. “will you cum for me, spence? can i feel you, please?”

all spencer could muster up in response was a strangled, but nothing short of pornographic, moan. his grip on you was so tight you were sure you would have indentations on your ass of his hands. spencer quickly turned his head to capture your lips as he pulled you down so your ass was flush against his thighs, his cock twitching as he came in you for the first time.

his entire body buzzed with pleasure, he could feel it all over and he knew then that cumming inside your cunt is where he would cum for the rest of his life if you let him. when his orgasm finally died down spencer relaxed back into the couch, he continued to kiss you for as long as he could but eventually he needed to take in a deep breath. you let out a shaky breath and pressed your forehead against his, huffing out a quiet laugh that had spencer lightly pinching your hips.

“that was…”

“i agree.” spencer hummed without you even finishing your sentence. he peeled his eyes open to find you already looking at him with a lazy grin on your face and he couldn’t help but to return it. you brought your hands back to his shoulders as you slowly lifted yourself off his cock, you and spencer both looked down and watched as his cum slowly oozed out of your pussy.

spencers cock twitched at the sight and he was already getting hard again. you looked back up at him and both of you shared a silent agreement that it was only right you go again. in a split second spencer had stood up with you in his arms and took you to your bedroom. he tossed you onto the bed and flipped you over onto your stomach, he positioned himself over you so his knees were on either side of you.

you sat up on your forearms and twisted your head as far as you could so you could watch him. spencer pulled his bottom lips between his teeth and met your eyes before grabbing ahold of your panties and ripping them, since they were made of lace it was fairly easy to rip.

“spencer!” you gasped, your eyebrows furrowing as you watched him pull the ripped material out of his way. “you owe me a new pair, i just bought those.”

spencer flushed as he mumbled a half-ass apology and wrapped his hand around his cock. he stroked himself a few times before using his free hand to spread your ass so he could guide his cock to your entrance. you turned back around and pressed your head into the pillows as he slowly slid into you.

you were already so wet that a quiet squelching noise came from your pussy when he slid in, the sound made your body heat up with slight embarrassment. spencer moved his hands to your waist, his thumbs pressing into the small of your back, as he began to thrust forward. he completely skipped the slow and steady pace and immediately went to fucking into you at a pace that had the bed creaking and you burying your head into the pillows.

a muffled, but loud nonetheless, yelp sounded from you as spencers cock found that spot within you that had you seeing stars. your body wanted to move– to lift your hips back into him, to do something– but with the way he was positioned on top of you and the way his hands were pinning you down by the waist, there was no way you could move.

all you could do was lay there underneath him while his fucked you like his life depended on it. there was no way you could complain though, not when the tip of his cock pressed against your sweet spot each time his cock entered you and took your breath away, not when you could hear him moaning out your name, and especially not when your cunt was already starting to tighten around his cock.

“oh fuck- please, spence. want you to cum again, please-” you choked out, tears welling up in your eyes. you were so close to cumming and all you could think about was how it felt when spencer had came in you, you wanted to feel it all over again and again. hearing you beg for him to cum in you flipped some type of switch in spencers brain and it made him work ten times harder.

spencer doubled over and placed his head on your shoulder, his hips snapping into your harder. the sound of your moans and skin on skin was sure to be heard all the way down the hall of your apartment building but a noise complaint was the last thing on either of your minds.

“you want me to cum in you, baby, want me to fill you up?” he mumbled against your skin. He wasn’t sure where the ability to talk like that came from but the noise that came from you when he did gave him enough courage to continue. “or do you want me to fuck a baby into you, is that what it is? i can do that- fuck- i’ll give you all of it, whatever you want.”

“yes- yes, yes, yes.” sobs wrecked your body as you blindly reached back to grab at any part of him you could reach. spencer grabbed your hand and interlaced your fingers, bringing your hand up and pinning it beside your head. spencer drew his hips back and delivered a particularly hard thrust that had your body stilling as you finally got to cum, you were positive you were seeing stars as pleasure filled every inch of your body.

the feeling of your cunt fluttering around his cock and your cum leaking out around his cock had spencer going on a pussy-drunk tangent about how he wished he could stay like this forever, how he loved cumming in, how all he wanted to do was fuck a baby into you. spencer talked himself straight into an orgasm and all you could do was whine as you felt his warmth flooding your walls.

you both laid there for a moment, trying to bring yourselves back down. eventually, spencer sat up and eased out of you which caused a soft hiss to leave both of you. his lips parted as he watched his cum seep out of your entrance and he was quick to gather it and push it back into you. you lifted yourself up and pushed his hand away before he got too carried away.

“too sensitive.” you reminded him as you rolled over onto your back and closed your legs. spencer let out a short chuckle and laid down beside you, pulling you against his chest and trailing his fingers down your arm.

“we should take a shower and then go eat that dinner you made.” he suggested. you draped your arm and leg over his body and let out a soft hum.

“i just need like five minutes.”

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comfortless · 9 months ago

Note

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

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

Keep doing what you do❤️

A Place For Us

Frankenstein’s creature! König x fem! horologist reader

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

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

wc: 10.6k

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

The wind is not what you had anticipated.

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

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

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

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

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

Lamplight would have done well, too.

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

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

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

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

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

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

They never smile for you.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Instead, you extend your umbrella outward, toward him.

“Awful rain, hm?,” you chime.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“You don’t want to catch a fever.”

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

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

Surely it was best not to let it distract you.

This was good enough.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

———

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

That isn’t imagination.

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

“This isn’t my watch, dear.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

So, you enter.

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

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

You leave the window open.

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

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

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

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

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

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

———

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Es tut mir leid.”

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

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

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

“No, it’s fine, it made me happy.”

“Happy?”

“Yes, it was sweet.”

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

“You have the hands of a maker.”

Strange, sweet Goliath.

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

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

“You have kind eyes.”

“I am not kind.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

“See..?”

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

“You are soft like…”

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

“… like one of the flowers.”

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

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

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

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

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

“Will you stay?”

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

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

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

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

“I should get home, before the rain.”

“Verstanden.”

“You can come too.”

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

———

König, you think to call him.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Natürlich.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“I would go anywhere with you.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Beloved,” is all that he says.

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

———

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You only take his hand.

“Let’s go home.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Your turn, hm?”

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

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

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

“And you’re still mine.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“No,” he states simply, shrugging.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

———

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

“I vow to take you as my wife.”

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

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

“I love you, too.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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averyfawkes · 3 months ago

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I wake up feeling wonderful and energized. I look and realize that I just slept in my underwear. I was so exhausted yesterday that I thought I would have a fever the next day. But this morning, I feel renewed and full of energy. I notice my morning wood poking out of my underwear. I was about to reach down and start jerking off when I heard this voice in my head.

I want to fuck someone. I'm so fucking horny. I hope I can find a tight ass to fuck soon. I'm so horny that I can fuck my pillow and shoot my load in it.

I realize how horny I am right now and simply jerking it off won't relieve it. I turn to my stomach and start rubbing my cock against my bed, humping the air as if I'm fucking someone. I got so lost in lust that I didn't notice that I'm actually leaking pre-cum right now. What is wrong with me? I need to pull myself together.

As much as I want to stand up and start my day, I find myself stuck in my bed, humping like there's no tomorrow, and almost on the verge of orgasm. I feel my body stiffening before I moan while my cock shoots out into my mattress. I heave on my bed, trying to regain some sense of control in this situation. As I feel myself getting down from my orgasmic high, I slowly rise from my bed and see the mess I made. I reluctantly pulled away my bed cover since I just replaced it 2 days ago. I walk towards my washer and toss everything inside, along with my stained underwear. I decide to get a cup of coffee first before I shower, just to clear out my mind.

I brew a pot of coffee and put 2 pieces of bread inside the toaster. I should cook breakfast but I'm still feeling squeamish from what happened in my bed. I just let out a deep sigh and realized that I haven't cummed like that for quite a long time now. It's like my whole body is on fire and all I can think about is cumming my brains out. I guess being a doctor made me spend less time on dating that I haven't had any good fuck for a long time. I miss that, and I think I should get back into dating again.

Yeah, you should find huge, muscular men and have them fuck your ass until you can't walk.

Shit, how awesome it would be to install Grindr and find myself a nice hot stud that can fuck me until I can't walk. But I have lots of appointments for the day. I can't just skip all of that for a simple booty call. My patients need me and I want to be there for them when they do.

But I want to get fucked. I want to have a big, juicy dick pumping in and out of my asshole, or a tight, perky butt to pound into. Whatever is easiest to get right now.

But I can't concentrate on my work if I don't deal with this right now. I should call in sick for the day and spend the whole day browsing through all the gay dating apps that I know. Yeah, I think I will do just that. I open my phone and begin downloading a ton of gay dating apps, signing up for accounts, and setting up profiles. I feel so giddy and excited like a teenager but you can't blame me, I haven't tried this before. I'm used to taking the girl I like into romantic dates before waiting for the right time to ask them if they want to have sex with me. Wait, I'm gay right? I don't like women. Why did I date women back then?

Focus on setting up your account, time is running out and you need to get laid, fast.

I shrug my thoughts about women aside as I continue setting up my profiles in different apps. As soon as I finished it, I started to swipe right on anyone that tickles my fancy. They need to be taller than me, older than me, and have a more muscular body than me. Fucking them or getting fucked by them seems hot to me so I don't mind. Just 5 minutes from creating my accounts, I already got a match from a big bear of a man that is so my type. His profile says he's a bottom and a little submissive. He wants me to send him a picture before he agrees to go here in my house. I grin as I get up and walk into my bathroom to snap a decent pic. As I stare at my reflection, I think that I'm hot enough for this guy.

You need to get shirtless. And remember that leather harness you bought for a costume 2 years ago, wear that before you take a picture for this man.

I remember the leather harness that I brought 2 years ago when I was wearing a cop costume. I run up to my storage room and frantically look for that leather harness. As soon as I grab it, I run back to the bathroom, tear off my shirt, and snap a picture before sending it to my match.

He immediately replied and confirmed that he'll be here in 5 mins. I giggle since I never did this before. Letting a complete stranger into my house just for sex is not my usual thing to do but I'm horny and I need someone right now. I waited for five minutes and perked up when I heard the doorbell ring. Before I walk up to my door, I figured that I should put back my shirt since I'm meeting this stranger.

You look so hot right now. Greet him and put him in his place. He's a submissive motherfucker and you will fuck his brains out. You need to turn him on first and wear this leather harness with shirtless.

Nah, I look hot right now. I'll greet him like this and see his reaction. I run up to the door and slowly open it. I see a man staring hungrily at me. I immediately recognized him as my match in the app so I stood aside and let him in. He walks into my house without breaking our eye contact. I close the door behind and lead him into my living room.

"So, how do you want to do this?" I ask him, trying to get the feel of this man.

"How? I want you to spread me wide and eat my ass first before fucking me. Don't worry about condoms, I cleaned out my hole for this. I still won't mind if you want to use one. And since you said that you're discreet, I don't want you greeting me when we meet outside, okay? I have a family and a job to protect. If you can't do that, I'm walking away." The man explains to me as he pulls his shirt away.

Oh no, this man has a family. I don't want to be involved with a family man. I'm no whore. I can do better than this. I should just decline his offer and send him away. This is just a bad idea.

Say yes. You just have to fuck him and you can be on your usual day. No strings attached. That's what he also wants. He wants your cock and you better give it to him good.

"Sure. Is that all?" I find myself saying as I feel myself smirking at the man.

The man then grins back at me as he gets naked and kneels on my sofa, lifting his ass in the air and showing me his asshole. I understand what he wants to say as I pull down my pants and free my rock-hard cock. I was surprised to see my cock already leaking pre-cum but I'm too horny to care. I aggressively slap his bubble butt before I grip his waist and thrust my dick straight into his inviting hole. I moan as soon as my cock penetrated his flesh, starting by slowly thrusting in and out of him.

I let myself feel the rhythm of the man's body before slowly increasing the pace of my thrusts. I feel myself getting lost in pleasure as I hear the man moaning and begging for more. I feel like I'm up for the challenge so I start pounding his ass like there's no tomorrow. The man starts wailing as his legs begin wobbling. I reach out to grab both his arms and begin mercilessly tearing his hole.

But then, I felt something click inside me. Something that I never before. I let out a gutteral moan as I feel my cock explode inside the man's ass. For some reason, I feel the cum shooting out of my cock more thicker and much more viscous than my usual cum. I grab the man's arms tighter and pull him closer to me. I could hear the man begging me to stop for a while but I ignored him. I just keep on pumping my load inside his ass for quite some time. In the middle of my endless orgasm, I feel the man under me begin squirming and twitching out of control. I realized that I've been cumming for a long time now and should have stopped minutes ago. There's clearly something wrong with what's happening and I should check if the man is still okay.

Just hold him tight and keep on pumping him full of my slime. We need to turn him into a puppet just like you. Just keep him in place while I assimilate his mind and body. You love cumming, don't you?

Fuck yeah, I love cumming! Cumming is the best. I will cum my brains out into this horny slut and pump him full of my seed. He won't be walking for days after this. I just have to keep on pumping and pumping cum until you're done turning him into a puppet like me. Wait, I'm a puppet? When did I become a puppet? And who am I talking to? What the hell is happening? I instinctively jumped away from the man as I suddenly pulled out my cock from his ass.

To my surprise, there is a gel-like string connecting my urethra to the man's asshole. My sudden disconnection to the man caused him to become aware of what was happening. He looked behind him and started at the sight of the slime connecting my cock to his butt. I tried to run away but suddenly felt my body instantly getting tired. I fall on the floor as my consciousness fades to black.

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

Nick almost caused me to lose this beautiful, hunky bear. I can't believe that someone with a huge cock wants to bottom. But that doesn't matter anymore since I'm in control now. I stare at my reflection in the mirror and admire my new puppet. I snapped a picture using Nick's phone and sent it to my email address.

I close my eyes and try to access this man's memories again. I tried earlier but I got rejected. Now that he's all clean and calm, I think I can do it. As soon as I open my eyes, his memories begin flowing in my mind like a calm river. I look into the mirror again and smirk.

"You will be a great addition to my collection, Dylan. I assure you that I'll use your body for all it's worth."

#slime possession #male puppet #male manipulation #male mind control #male takeover

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randomfanner · 1 year ago

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Halsin + Thaniel and Oliver Headcanons

There will be non-relationship head canons and relationship head canons, all fluffy or Angst content because this is getting really long. I was going to do smut, and I will do smut eventually, but this post is not the post.

TW: Loss of a child, loss in general, lot a of sadness in that. Also in general there is going to be expected backstory trigger warnings. Like the fact he was kept chained to a bed for 3 year. Also on a lighter note, drug use is talked about, it's pot.

Halsin will adopt everything and everyone if you let him. He considers Oliver and Thaniel his kids, he considers Arabella and Yvenna his kids. He considers most of the tiefling kids his kids to an extent. Nieces and nephews perhaps. He loves Scratch and the Cub and Tara(Gale has complained that Tara sometimes goes to Halsin's lap rather than his). If you leave this man alone in the forest and he finds and injuries baby animal or an animal, he will bring it home and nurse it back to health and it will come to visit or just live with you.

We get very little from Thaniel in terms of screen time, and also Oliver after he comes to camp so I am putting head canons.

Thaniel is a good kid. He is pretty quiet, calm and respectful of adults and people in general. He is good with animals, good with plants. Most of the time at the very least. He is... rather reserved. Halsin and Thaniel became friends not because Thaniel let himself be seen, it was a 5 in human year old Halsin chasing this fey child through the woods. He is shy, and doesn't really talk much to people.

Now, he does actually does seem to like talking to you. Halsin has spoken highly of you, Halsin cares about you deeply and you did very much saved Thaniel's life. You killed the man that tormented him for several decades. He does feel he can talk to you.

Now, with that in mind, Thaniel is a fey child. A well behaved and well meaning fey child but he is a fey child none the less. He does have a mischievous. I promise you he has tried to steal your name, and you fell for it Halsin has to talk Thaniel into giving your name back.

Thaniel and Oliver share an end goal with you and Halsin and that is to parent trap your ass. They like you, the fey don't like losing what they like.

Oliver is a little shit. He can be a very sweet little shit and he does like you and Halsin a lot, but he also can torment you in many ways. Mostly because this child has been alone in the wilderness and doesn't have any socialization. Halsin realizes this and is very good at being patient with the traumatized child.

He pulls pranks all of the time when he was around camp, and he does like to trick travelers when they begin coming through. However he does like you and he does like Halsin. So he can be rather nice, he may even let you have his true name... if you promise you will be his mama and papa.

He wants a family. Please let him have a family.

Loss of a Child, Loss, Acceptance of Loss, A traumatized Child

So, man has considered Thaniel his kid for awhile now, he would never say it because once he called himself Thaniel's 'big brother' and Thaniel reminded him, rather quickly, that Thaniel was in fact older then him This was when they were younger Halsin could not guess Thaniel's reaction if he called him son. So when Thaniel was lost Halsin was crushed beyond measure. He did grieve for years and was still admitting grieving until you came along and helped him find his son again. And make sure he would have a friend after Halsin was gone with the earth again. Halsin knows how to accept death, but he also knows it doesn't stop the grieving and that is OK. He may set time aside to be alone and just... grieve if he feels the need to. He grieves but he also remembers. He tries to make good time matter and last for as long as he can. He does... restrain himself during bad times. But when he has those small moments and any chance he gets, he is rather passionate. Even with the smallest things like a kiss or being able to hold hands.

About Thaniel because this kid has some serious trauma. So does Oliver but we get more screen time and information about Oliver so:

Thaniel is a very respectful and mature kid mostly because he is an immortal 8 year old. He is very traumatized. He gets friends and then his friends get older then him and then they die. And he forever young and in the forest. It can take awhile of course, elves live for hundreds of years but... lives for hundreds of years is different then living forever. And he hates being reminded of it so that is why he refuses to let himself call Halsin dad or acknowledge that. He can acknowledge Halsin is older but not that he is going to lose another father and another friend.

Halsin has tried to help him with this as much as he can. He reminds Thaniel that he will still be there for him in the earth, in the dirt and in the spirit. And Thaniel believes it, but it still hurts.

On a bit of a lighter note, reincarnation is I am sure canon in DND, like, there is a spell for that so I assume it is a process they will happen eventually. Druid just speed it up. so Halsin has probably been Thaniel's dad multiple times... (and with you a few times perhaps, if nature has willed you to come together through lifetimes)

So Oliver is like, the best thing that has ever happened to this child. Having a younger brother who will always be a friend is the best thing for this sad forest child. He has a friend who will not get older than him and die.

Small note with Oliver

So, Haslin likes to whittle and just. One day Oliver asks for figure of Mommy and Daddy and his Dog and Halsin does make them for him, of course, and Oliver just sort of puts it on display and man, Halsin has never felt sorry for killing a shadow once in his life and now here he is, mourning with his son because ya.

I have my own traumatized immortal natural spirit child so I really like Thaniel and Oliver. Can you tell?

We done with the angst mostly, be warned pot still remains and so does general Halsin Trauma.

So anyway, I am not crying, and Halsin is a walking snack machine I swear. We are using all DND spells and he has create food and water at all times and uses it a lot. Ever short rest you all get food, water, and he even has bowls and cups prepared at all times that he whittles himself so you have something to enjoy your snack in. He does also offer food and water to all of the refugees when you get to Baldur's Gate.

His snacks consist of berries, nuts and different seeds, when it is a longer rest he can summon meat and vegetables. You know he helps with this sort of stuff all of the time. He likes to cook and I believe he is probably a pretty good cook.

He knows how to cook with a wide range of ingredient. He can cook a dish anywhere you place him. He knows forests, plains, coasts, caves, and even the under dark. He is also very aware of general signs of what is edible and what is not that, so he can always find safe food.

Food is very much a love language for him as well. He cooks for you all the time and also makes you different kinds of sweets. He can bake, he can cook, and he can probably grill and cook on a camp fire. He is amazing at it. Unless you put him in an actual kitchen. Than the poor man because confused and clueless (Poor bear man doesn't understand how a stove works).

Halsin will take care of you no matter what happens. If you get injured he is nursing the wound and cooing that it will be OK because he is here and he has you. He kissing the wound and cure wounds it and will make and will make sure you are all better. He knows you can do with out it, and if you would prefer he can save or wait on the extra bits and simply take care of the wound, however he is taking care of the wound do not mistake him.

He is so doting when you get sick or are pregnant or on your period or if you get poisoned. Man will get you the bed of the finest furs and feed you the best soup to make you feel better. After of course, you down his awful tasting medicine that does cure you pretty quickly because he is a man who knows a thing or two about medicine. He is a healer. He knows how to make you feel better.

Man likes doing hair. It is an elf thing and we can see he believes it on his character look at his hair, he has so many little braids in his hair and he wants to do yours. Please let him do yours. He will explains why he really wants to do it so, you understands how much this means to him. He also wants you to do his, of course. But he just likes, adding flowers to your hair and little bits of nature. No matter what gender or how long your hair is.

Man is also always giving you small gifts. Something he whittled himself, flowers and snacks, pretty rocks, basically anything and everything. He is a bird trying to woo his mate by bringing them shiny things. And it probably works, let's be honest.

Halsin is REALLY good at whittling. It is a little bit more than just a side hobby and he makes toys for kids with his whittling. He will make bears, people, animals, plants, monster, a kid asks for a toy of it, he will carve it. Thaniel and Oliver do have a whole set of bear figurines that keep them safe at night and scare away any beasts that mean them harm.

However he does also use his whittling skills. He can make tools, bowls, utensils, and things for another day. Halsin does not normally need gold however when he is Baldur's gate he is very good at making it on the fly because he can simply whittle something and people will buy it.

Man learns about charity art shows and finds one that does it for nature and makes a number of things to be sold there and by gods is there a bidding war for it. He normally wouldn't be interested but you know, man wants to help nature.

As stated above he does whittle for you all the time, and he also really like to incorporate imagery that reminds him of you and the things you have done and the relationship you have. Sometimes he will care you elegantly into a cup, other times he will show your family through symbols, other times it is just nature. It is really cute.

Cuddler and PDA all the way man, he loves to hold your hand, give you kisses on the cheek, have a hand on your waist, anything to be close to you. He will stop if you ask of course but do expect big bear eyes from him before he does so. He does not mean to do it but he cannot help it. (In a Astarion x Halsin setting, gets hit with those eyes and just breaks and holds his hand).

He will turn into a bear and let you do all the extremely dangerous things to do to a real bear but we all want to do. Touch the soft and fluffy ears, squish the toe beans, don't deny it, we all do. It is quite sweet and has a wonderful time.

Halsin tends to go into a deeper trance than most elves. Sometimes he needs to be shaken out of his trance rather than spoken out of it. He blames it on the bear.

Also Halsin most certainly smokes pot. He probably experiments with natures creations like mushrooms and other things you can smoke. He knows all about the effects, what it will do and often uses it to meditate... or sometimes have a good time.

He would happily invite you to join him if you would be interesting. I think a high Halsin would be extremely entertaining to watch even if you do not smoke pot with him. All formalities drops and he gets so cuddly. He is already cuddly but he is falling asleep on you cuddly.

OK, so, this is a lot, there will probably be a part two or at the very least a NSFW head canon, probably.

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nothingxs · 1 month ago

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so maybe you're like me, from south florida, and you really love Flanigan's. maybe you watched this video:

and you realized, hey, i don't know what all of those things are. buttercream base? butter? that isn't butter. what the fuck is whirl? what the fuck is a butter-flavored oil??

i am here to tell you that you don't need all of that. you can make this dish and have it taste dead-ass just like the one from flanigan's at home. here's how you do it.

italians, do not give me shit. i make carbonara with no cream, with guanciale. i make "alfredo" only with parmesan and pasta water. i don't break my pasta. this isn't for you. this is for mi gente out here.

flanigan's-style lemon chicken pasta

(serves 4)

equipment you will need:

a dish to put your flour in; i suggest something very flat but with raised edges like a small casserole tray.

a big bowl to mix your sauce in before transferring to saucepan

a smaller bowl, metal or plastic, to discard hot oil into

a sauté pan (preferably 12"), or a 10" skillet

a saucepan for the sauce (i use a skillet)

a large pot for the pasta

a flat spatula, preferably metal, that can remove the chicken breasts clean from a pan without leaving anything underneath

a ladle

a whisk

tongs would be nice, for handling the chicken while cooking

a microplane, or at least like some kind of fruit or vegetable peeler, for zesting 1 lemon

for pasta:

1 16oz pack of linguine

tap water to cook the pasta (follow the pasta directions to cook it)

salt for the water (do not forget to put salt in your pasta water, please)

for sauce:

1 cup jarred alfredo sauce

1 cup heavy cream

2 tbsp of 2% milk

1 tbsp lemon pepper seasoning

the zest of half a lemon

for chicken:

2 big chicken breasts, butterflied and separated and pounded thin into 4 cutlets (alternatively, 4 kinda smaller breasts, butterflied and pounded thin)

about a cup of flour, for dredging

lemon pepper seasoning as needed

about half a cup of ghee and half a cup of avocado oil

pre-cooking prep:

take your chicken breasts and butterfly them in half and pound them thin

season one side with a liberal coating of lemon pepper seasoning, let it stick

dredge your seasoned chicken cutlet in flour, set aside. do this with all of them.

start getting the ghee and avocado oil in your sauté pan hot, medium-high heat. (if you are using a smaller pan to cook in batches, use less ghee/oil)

premix your alfredo, cream, water, milk, lemon pepper seasoning and lemon zest in a bowl, whisking

cooking:

raise the saucepan to low/medium-low heat

add the sauce mix in the saucepan and leave it; stir occasionally

if you are using a full-sized sauté pan, once the oil mix is hot, add all your chicken cutlets, lemon pepper side down. (if you are using a smaller pan, like 10", and there's room for only two, do this in two batches, and start pasta on the second batch.)

start pasta right after your chicken is lowered in; stir occasionally

cook chicken until oil starts to bubble heavily and the bottom side has gotten color. flip. let it cook on that side too. if you have a thermometer, i'd check that the thickest part of the chicken gets to ~160F+.

your sauce should be bubbling a bit. if it is, lower the heat as low as it'll go to keep it hot. remember to keep stirring.

once your chicken is ready to go, release the pieces of chicken from the pan by scraping them off with the spatula—but keep them in the pap, proper!

take your pan and discard the oil into a waiting container. put the pan back on the heat.

immediately ladle enough sauce to both cover your chicken and get the fond off the pan, and lower the heat. let the low heat and sauce sort of finish cooking up a little; you'll be fine doing everything else while this sits there on a very low simmer.

your pasta OUGHT to be done by now. drain it, put it back in the pot, add the remaining sauce in there and toss it.

plate 4 servings of pasta, serve one cutlet of chicken over it or on the side along with the nice and chickeny sauce from it over the top

ingredients i used that you can buy, if you want:

Ragú Classic Alfredo McCormick Lemon Pepper because I couldn't find the Kinder equivalent; this was just as good. (there's a Cracked Pepper and Lemon from Kinder that is NOT what you want. do not get that one.)

#cooking #recipes #imitation recipes #copycat recipes #lemon chicken #pasta #unauthentic pastas #celica cooks

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posttexasstressdisorder · 4 months ago

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Celebrating July 4th in Strange Times, Pt 2

Of a Too-hot Kitchen, the Sauce, the Meatballs, and the Tater Sallid.

I got goin' as soon as I felt caffeinated, glad I did, as far as time required to get things done. Had to tell my self not to lose focus or get distracted a few times, and things are done, except the oven-roasting of the chicken thighs slathered with The Sauce, which can happen about 5pm. By 1pm kitchen was too hot, so cooling breaks of running back to my room for five-ten mins and back out ensued.

First things first today: Start The Sauce & The Tater Sallid.

for The Sauce:

1 lg yellow onion, finely sliced, and then minced...very finely chopped!

Start clarifying that in about 2 tblspns butter over medium heat. Sprinkle in a teaspoon of salt and about the same in coarse-ground pepper.

6 -8 large cloves of garlic, finely minced, thrown into the pot with the butter and onion mix. Stir and don't let burn. You want extremely clarified onion/garlic bits, speckled with black pepper.

Once you get there, dump in 16 oz tomato sauce, stir and mix thoroughly.

Now pour in 1/2 cup Grandma's Molasses, stir in.

Add in 1 cup Heinz ketchup, and 1/4 cup white vinegar, stir vigorously.

Stir in 1 heaping teaspoon of coarse-stone-ground mustard.

Now pour in 1 cup strong black coffee. Stir it in until you've got a mixture that's pulling together.

Now keep on the back burner to "cook down" until it is a thick, viscous and clingy goo. Perfect for stickin' to da chicken.

Now throw on the potatoes to boil: 4 or 5 lbs of either red potatoes or goldens. You want a waxier tater for this, rather than a gritty one like a russet. Yeah...boil them quickly, salted water to cover by at least a couple inches. Twenty -thirty minutes tops. Until the skins are cracking. Drain and allow to cool for about 20 minutes.

While that's happening, hard-boil 4-5 eggs, depending on what size they are. These were tiny mediums, so I'm using 5. Bring to a boil, cover, remove from heat and let sit for 15 minutes. Voila. Peel.

Meanwhile, chop one big-ass RED onion, and 3 or 4 garlic dill pickles.

Once the taters have cooled some, hold them with a hot-pad in your palm, and roughly chop them. You want them still MOSTLY hot, but cool enough you don't hurt yourself. It's that mid-point that will give you the texture/feel you want.

Now, pour and sprinkle 2 handfulls of the dill pickle juice over the taters. Add the red onion, pickles and a jar of diced pimientos, plus some of the juice as well. Put the eggs in and the use a knife to rough-chop them as they sit atop the rest of the ingredients.

Now, add 1 1/4-1 1/2 cup HELLMAN'S or BEST FOODS MAYO. Period.

Now stir. Keep stirring, as you are folding all the ingredients together.

That's about the halfway point. Keep goin'...what you're lookin' for is this:

Now, Cover tightly and fridge for the rest of the day, until dinnertime.

Now make The Meatballs (which are tasty dipped in The Sauce!):

Do as you did for The Sauce, the clarified onion/garlic mix. Set aside to cool

In a big bowl, pour the following:

2 cups Progresso Italian Breadcrumbs

1 cup grated parmesan

1/2 cup finely chopped parsley

Stir to mix.

Take a 2-cup Pyrex measure, and pour in 1 cup cold water.

Crack in 4 eggs...use a fork and break the eggs up, and distribute through the water. Pour into the bowl and stir into the dry ingredients. Add the onions and garlic (now cooled down.)

Crumble in a pound of ground beef and a pound of hot Italian Sausage. Now comes the fun part. Be four again and squish and squish until it all comes together as a solidly distributed mix.

Form into balls and bake at 350 for about a half hour and you get this:

Did I mention they're killer dipped in The Sauce?

lulz. OK. SO: Meatballs? Check! Sauce? Check! Tater Sallid? Check! It's about ten til four. I'm gonna shoot for a seven-seven-thirty eat time, so I'll start roasting the chicken about 5pm.

Which means I got an hour to CHILL in THE AC.

Will follow up with Pt 3 later.

Y'all chill.

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sonicasura · 1 year ago

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Personal Headcanons #4

Some more headcanons for you folks but this one is gonna be a bit special. I'll be including an OC and an AU version of a character as well! Enjoy!

Knack

Absolutely shy and skittish in the first two weeks of his creation. It wasn't uncommon for Doctor Vargas or Lucas to find Knack hiding somewhere. A few spots were creative while some... I think the 13 foot fellow made out of relics hiding behind a potted plant is very obvious.

Sporadic copycat. Knack tends to copy certain things he sees from actions to basic body movement. Blinking? Definitely copied despite not needing to. Homing Attack? He saw Lucas play Sonic once and thought it was cool. Knack even mimics the Doc's way of stimming which is tapping his fingers to make a random beat.

Can actually purr funnily enough. Even when he's in his smallest form, 2'6 and mute, Knack somehow able to purr. The only explanation the Doctor could think of is the chest orb is just copying the action via a loud acoustic hum. Still doesn't stop Knack from rumbling like a mini jackhammer as a 32' giant.

He sometimes hates being small. Without the ability to use relics to manipulate his size, Knack is effectively mute and has difficulty pulling down a large lever. Although his 'cute' appearance doesn't scare the crap out of people like a relic behemoth with sharp claws, large teeth paired to a scary mug.

Jim Lake Jr (Half Troll)

Has multiple cases of dysphoria after being transformed. Sometimes Jim thinks he's smaller like as if he was still human. Blinky or Claire had to pull him out whenever he got stuck. In need of food therapy too as Jim keeps trying to eat human food only to make himself sick later.

Sensory overload in the smell and hearing department. Jim tends to get overstimulated so much that sometimes he will just shut down. Claire gotten him some noise cancelling headphones while his troll mentor got a face mask to help with his heightened sense of smell.

Gets the zoomies. Considering he's technically an infant in troll years despite being 16-17 half human, Jim has a LOT more energy to burn. Blinky might've stolen a drone for his half troll student to chase. No one wants to deal with a hyperactive kid on a long ass exodus fron California to New Jersey.

Decides to learn how to make troll food. Jim can't really eat most of the stuff he used to as a human and eating just utensils tends to get stale. Plus he misses being able to eat his own cooking. Blinky got him a lot of cooking books and tries to procure any ingredients he can.

Tikki Cho (OC)

Likes collecting various stuff akin to a tame hoarder. Tikki has an organized stash of various items from books, collectible figures, movies and videogames. Any duplicates are given to children related charities, the local library or friends.

Tikki's love language in general(both platonic and romantic) is physical affection. She likes to hug or nuzzle people if given permission. Even holding hands is enough for her. It's easier to notice Tikki's Angora Rabbit traits as it isn't uncommon for someone's arms to vanish in her fur via hug.

There are often misconceptions when it comes to Tikki's eyes. Some people tend to think she's blind or imagine what her full face looks like. A bias stemmed from how her hair practically covers everything the nose. Tikki politely clears any misconception whether verbally or brush her hair aside to show her green eyes.

Rarely curses. Tikki doesn't swear much as she doesn't care about foul language in general. Is in the 'Will Say Fuck' section cause any big emotional reaction guarantees a curse from her. Rage tends to get the most.

Jim Lake Jr (Beastformer/ Troll or More)

Has accidentally set trees on fire multiple times with his horns. Jim had quite a temper when he was younger which usually led to fire shooting out than smoke. He gotten better since he began living with Barbara but it still happens.

Mischief maker. It isn't uncommon for Jim to prank others in the dead of night. Most of his antics are harmless like burying someone's bird fountain in acorns or a water balloon trap at the door. Although folk he doesn't like will find a bite taken out of their cars and goats in their backyard.

Definitely had to take a bath multiple times cause he got really dirty. Sometimes punk teenagers would dump paint over him in vehicle mode or Jim lands to a big mud puddle in beast mode. Barbara always hoses him down as going through a car wash feels too weird.

You know how a octopus will suddenly punch a fish out of spite? That's Jim right here but it's just a bad habit. In vehicle form, he often opens his car door just for a cyclist to crash into it or punch an unsuspecting troll before hiding his robotic arm. In Beast form he just headbutts people like a goat. Jim lightly tap his horns against Barbara a few times at best and rammed Strickler twice at worst.

And that's it! Until next time folks, I'll see you later!

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where-pain-is-so-pretty · 2 years ago

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December Project 03 - I think I found where I belong

Pairing: Joonas x Reader

Category: Fluff

TW: none

Word Count: 1160

Request: Joonas giving the reader guitar lessons. He ends up playing their favourite song "My Heart Is A Hurricane" Please add a little fluff/romance if you like.

Requester: @snaketattoo69

Note: Nothing to note here other than, I loved the request but struggled big time to finish it. And no Joonas x Reader Insert is complete without me mentioning or bullying Joel ❤️‍🩹😌

"How do you even know which frets to press?" Joonas opened his eyes, a little surprised by the sudden question. You had watched him play his acoustic guitar in silence for the past few minutes, and seeing his fingers wander up and down the fretboard so effortlessly with closed eyes, amazed you.

"Muscle memory! You'll get there too, I promise." He waved you a warm smile before continuing with the song. You only shrugged, still a bit frustrated about your small outburst earlier. Today just was not your day.

Originally you two met up for your monthly guitar lessons, but after an hour of repeating the chords of "Wonderwall" you had begged him to try and play something more difficult. And with an amused chuckle, he had followed your request, asking you for your favorite Blind Channel song.

Patiently he had written down the chords, making them easier for you to play and understand. You two sat across from each other as you tried to mirror his hand movements on your own guitar, pressing the frets and strumming the strings he showed you to. It only took you three tries, to realize that "My Heart Is A Hurricane" was a pain in the ass to play and with a frustrated sigh you tossed your guitar aside.

Now you only watched him, as he played the song from start to finish. Hoping that you would learn something by focusing on his hands. But your tired brain had given up on its tasks minutes ago. His pretty face, framed by those fluffy blond curls, way more interesting to it. Your eyes wandered from his curls to his perfect brows, them narrowing while he strummed the strings of his guitar. You lost yourself in his voice, as he half sang and half hummed the text of the song. The low tone of it creating butterflies in your stomach. When Joonas ended the song and met your gaze again you just prayed he would not notice the blush on your face.

"Break?" He asked, placing the guitar beside him on the couch. "Yeah." You mumbled and stretched your arms over your head. A break sounded wonderful, you needed to clear your head otherwise you would probably end up daydreaming about him for the rest of the session. Joonas stood up from the couch, cracking his knuckles before walking over to his small kitchen side. "You want anything to drink?""Tea, please!" You pushed yourself up from the couch, following him. He nodded with a smile on his lips as he filled the kettle with water.

Leaning against the counter you watched him prepare your tea, placing two cups in front of him and tossing a bag of herbal tea into one.

"Do you ever think I'm too dumb to learn guitar?" The question had just popped up in your head. He was about to pour himself a cup of coffee but stopped to look up at you. "No! Where is that coming from?!" His blue eyes were soft on you, examining your face slightly concerned. You still felt bad for being so frustrated earlier and now you somehow worried you might have upset him with it. "I don't know. I sometimes feel like I'm not making any progress." The words sounded sadder than you wanted them to.

Joonas set down the coffee pot and stepped closer to you, placing one of his hands on your shoulder, squeezing it lightly. "Y/N! You did great! I get that you are a little frustrated but if you keep going like that we can start practicing some more difficult songs next month." His face was so close to yours, making it difficult to focus on his caring words and not on his pink lips or his long full lashes. It took you some seconds to take in his words and react to them. "Really? You think so?" "Yes! We can even quit Wonderwall after the next session, I promise!" Joonas gave you another smile, patting you on the shoulder before turning around to check on the tea kettle.

"No more Wonderwall?!" You happily asked, still a little starstruck from having him so close. "Yes!" Nodding his head in approval he poured the water into your cup, handing it to you a moment later. "Thank you…for everything actually." You felt like appreciating his patience with you was overdue, avoiding his eyes and watching the steam from your cup as you told him.

"Not for that, I love praticing with you. You are proably the best student I ever had!" Joonas laughed and grabbed his own cup, walking back to the couch. You raised a brow at him, last time you checked you were his only student. "Who is my competition?" Confused you followed him to the living room, your cup in hand.

"Joel…" A playfully annoyed sigh left his mouth as he sat down on his couch. "Joel? But he plays guitar like a god…" Flopping down beside him you placed your cup on the small coffee table. Joonas snorted. "Yeah, thanks to me and Olli. Now that he mostly only sings he forgot some of the basics. So, we teach him to freshen up his skills sometimes." He explained, taking a sip of his coffee as he watched you over his cup.

Now that he brought it up it made sense to you, but you still could not see how Joel was a worse student than you were. "It can't be that bad." "Oh, believe me it is…He has the attention span of a five-year-old and the temper of one as well." he joked.

You chuckled along with him, the abrupt growling of your stomach interrupting you. Embarrassed you wrapped your arms around yourself. But Joonas had already noticed. "You wanna go out for lunch?" He offered to you, and even though you knew it only was a friendly gesture it made your butterflies fly high again. "If you don't have anything planned, I would love to."

"I'm free today and hungry as well…" Excitedly he jumped to his feet, slipping into his shoes and grabbing his blue jeans jacket. "Also..uhm I…", he turned around to you. "IWantedToAskYouOutForAgesWhyDon'tWeConsiderThisOurFirstDate?" He blurrted out, looking at his feet. The last few words came out of his mouth so fast that you barely managed to take them in.

"Wh-at?" You blinked at him opened-mouthed, a thousand thoughts floating through your head still trying to understand what he had just said. Your body reacted quicker than your mind, making your heart race and your cheeks heat up.

He sheepishly scratched his neck, now looking straight at you, cheeks scarlet red. "I would like to take you out?" He repeated slower, giving you puppy eyes. "If you don't mind…" He added at your lack of reaction. "I don't!" Was all you managed to say as you grabbed your jacket as well.

You both left his apartment smiling like lovesick idiots.

#blind channel #blind channel rpf #blind channel x reader #joonas porko #joonas porko x reader

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shaunsummers · 2 years ago

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Tek's Birthday!

"Dude...you're serious?" Rebel's smile only widens at all this suddenly being placed in her lap. It was also just delightful to hear Tek talk about anything nerdy; whether a short burst or full on tangent. Even if she didn't understand what every word meant. "Yeah, fuck it. Let's do it!" Like there was a reason not to at this point. Tek was confident in being able to handle the computer stuff that Rebel surely couldn't touch even if she tried; and she had. It made her feel like her head was going to explode.

"You're giving them far too much credit." Lilith asserts, idly draining the hot water into the sink. The wild parties of the past, oh, she remembered well. Chances were high for a fight, some slutty pair hooking up, something getting broken, etc. She was willing to put money on it. Actually, that was a great idea. "...I have a thought." Placing the pot aside, Lilith leans back against the counter as she taps her chin with the tip of her finger. "Why don't we place bets?"

While the change of subject was welcomed and relieving, Siren didn't want to end their impromptu conversation on an awkward note. In the background, however, she was still trying to process Beatrix's words. Shaun was only fifteen or sixteen when her and Ash were together, very young to go through anything she, herself, just walked out of. The fighting, manipulation, the constant need for dominance. Siren wasn't aware of her age, either, until they lived together. There was...one hell of a gap between those two. Thinking about it again now, with a sense of sobriety and distance, it curled at her stomach.

"You're offering your boob blunt?" Discarding the potential mind trap in earnest, Siren flashes her a smile in humor. "I'm honored." Still, she was already holding her pen but decides to have a small hit as an appetizer for what was surely a heavily packed joint. "So, how has the life of Beatrix been since graduating?" Steering the topic in a completely different direction was an easy choice. One that would hopefully clear the stiff air between them. Though, she was genuinely curious about her in general.

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

"Of course I'm serious! I'm kinda surprised you haven't done it already!" Tek beams warmly, eagerly soaking in her excitement. "It may take me a minute to figure out how to set it up, but I can't start throwing your name around until school starts again, anyways! I'm sure the syntax is a bit different since it's coding visuals rather than physical output on a circuit board, but I'm sure it's gotta be similar. Just a sequence of formulas chaining together to do a thing, so if I figure out what those are, I can start slapping them together. And I'm sure existing code is out there somewhere, so I might not even have to do most of it from scratch, anyways..."

Tek finally surfaces from her brain vomit, catching a flash of Rebel's slightly glazed and confused look, and laughs bashfully. "...I'll figure it out. But yeah, I'm in!" She felt the sudden urge to hug Rebel in her enthusiasm. What was this, a quasi-business partnership? Of sorts? A handshake seemed gauche, at least for them. Meh, I'm doin' it! Tek leans forward with a big smile, scooping her close for a big squeeze. "It's a deal!"

"Bets?" Shaun laughs, folding her arms in curiosity. "On what, exactly?"

Quinn could already see where this was going, and hell yeah she wanted to be involved. "Like a fantasy football thing? Betting Kevin McHuge Pecs runs 300 yards? But instead, like, Rebel's slutty ass makes out with 3 people or Devin punches someone in the boob?"

"Take it while it's hot." Relaxing under the mitigated tension, Beatrix wastes no time striking the end of the blunt and letting that whole subject pass. "If your tolerance is low, be careful. I do not pack these lightly." She cricks a smile, the smell easily and strongly choking the patio air.

"I'm still living with my dad, but I go to Commonwealth in Richmond. In the business program. I hate it, but if we have to live in a capitalist shithole, I want a decent piece of the power." Beatrix exhales in humor, taking a hit of the sneaky cigar before passing it along. "Most of my classes are online, so I only go in two days a week. And on weekends, if I don't work. I do burlesque at Fallout. It's fun, and a little extra money since I'm only part time."

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your-enby-antihero · 2 years ago

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Caleb and the two very hot purple people that are sitting at the next table over

Based on a tumblr post

Caleb works as a teacher at the Soltryce Academy. His life is fairly normal, not very notable at all, but when he meets two people at a bar he becomes an utter mess.

also available on ao3

—————————————————————————

Chapter 7: Mollymauk Tealeaf Has a Very Surprise Visit from a Multitude of Brothers

Summary: Molly and Essek were just expecting a regular day, until some unexpected visitors arrive.

—————

Molly hadn’t expected to wake up to the sound of screaming. Living as the middle child with their two brothers was loud but they had moved away from both of them and not to mention it sounded like three voices in the living room. Molly let himself fall back into the blankets and snuggled up to a sleeping Essek. It had been a few days since dinner with the group and Essek had been catching up on some marking and ended up actually sleeping instead of trancing the evening before. Molly let the shouting go for probably another 5 to 10 minutes before they carefully slid out of bed, kissing a stirring Essek on the forehead on the way out.

Molly carefully entered the living room only to see a tall drow and two purple tieflings talking loudly at one another. Molly sighed, contemplating whether or not he should go back to their beautiful boyfriend and sleep in some more. He didn’t really get the chance when red eyes met red.

“MOLLY!!!!,” the tiefling shouted, as they came barreling into Molly’s chest and sweeping him into a bear hug.

“It’s good to see you too Kingsley,” Molly sighed fondly.

Kingsley, Molly’s younger brother, was a firecracker, a sailor, and a pain in their ass. Molly and Kingsley were very close when they were younger, both dead set on terrorizing the local population and their eldest brother Lucien. They had drifted when Molly had gotten with Essek, though not for a lack of love for the other brother on either side. Mostly because Kingsley had been working outside of Wildemount with an air ship for Marquet called the Silver Sun.

“You bitch, you haven’t called in ages. Like I say hey Molls you might meet the second love of your life if you move out there and I only hear about your cute ginger when I call Yasha???”

Molly sighed, of course Yasha had called Kingsley, who obviously called Verin, who probably ran into Lucien at some corporate meeting and let it slip. They set the thought aside and instead peeled Kingsley off of him and ushered the group over to their small kitchen table.

“Verin, Kingsley can I get either of you some tea? Lucien, you know where the coffee is, make a pot please,” Molly called as they grabbed a few mugs from the cabinet.

Of course Molly loved their eldest brother, but he was kind of a prick, a bit egotistical, and didn’t even text or call, so he could make the coffee. And not to mention Molly was a petty bitch and last time Lucien called he had said that moving would be a big mistake, that they would be better off in a circus than in Rexxuntrum.

“Come on Mollymauk, you have to be over that by now,” Lucien whined.

“Lucien you know where the coffee pot is please can you make a pot,” he smirked.

Lucien sighed, annoyed, before getting up. The pair danced around each other in the kitchen, those sibling instincts kicking in, even though Molly and Lucien didn’t always see eye to eye, they cared about each other. They knew each other.

Soon after coffee and tea was served a sleepy looking Essek wandered into the room, t-shirt and star themed pajama pants crinkled from heavy sleep. Verin’s eyes lit up as he ran and swept his brother into a tight hug, ponytail whipping Molly in the face on the way.

“Good mornin’ love,” Molly snorted, Essek squeezed in Verin’s arms, eye nearly popping from his head.

“It’s been a while Starburst,” Kingsley chuckled into his tea.

Essek patted Verin on the back, “you didn’t say you would be in town?”

“Kingsley texted me that you and Molly found another partner and that you were in love and that he was smart and nice and had a cat. I just was so excited, I dropped everything to come and meet him!”

Verin had always been sweet and cheerful, Essek’s only reason for not running away from home, but Essek was tired, and hadn’t had any type of caffeine.

——————

Somehow the normal work day of the Tealeaf-Thelyss household turned into shepherding a group of unexpected arrivals around the city. Molly had a meeting with the client who had commissioned a tarot set from them. They had finally finished the mock set so that the customer could send the design to their manufacturer. Before the couple had to do actual work they stopped at Caduceus’ cafe and had a bit of what Molly decided to call ‘brunchish’, it was probably fine to classify it as breakfast given the hour but Molly and Lucien both ordered lunch dishes so brunchish it was. Then Essek went into the University at about midday to meet with his colleagues. Molly took the little group over to Jester’s art studio and basically pawned them off on her for a bit.

“I promise I’ll pick them up at before dinner time,” they smiled before running out the door.

He breathed in a sigh before booking it to a small shop, a tall furred man with goggles sitting behind the counter.

“Sorry for the wait, Pumat, I had some uninvited guests drop by this morning,” Molly apologized.

“Oh that’s alright bud, here ya go, come sit. I’m interested to see what ya got for me,” Pumat smiled, as he gestured over towards a back room.

——————

When Molly returned to Jester’s art studio they heard the gleeful shouting from the doorstep. He smiled to himself and hoped that they did have fun. Molly really did wish that they could have spent more time with his siblings and Verin.

Molly took a big breath in and ran through the door, making the wind chime outside clatter in the wind.

He bursted through the door and shouted, “OI you menaces- and Verin, leave our poor Jester’s studio alone. We’re meeting Yash and Essek at the bar for dinner!”

Molly blew Jester a kiss on the way out as they ushered the gaggle of brothers out the door. From there it was a bit of a walk, the cool air tousled Molly’s curly purple hair into a bit of a tangle.

Molly chatted ideally with the rest, how business was for Verin and Lucien, what fuckery Kingsley had been up to. Molly felt a warmth spread in their chest as they neared the entrance to Beau and Yasha’s bar, the obnoxious neon lettering of an open sign flashed to life as Molly threw open the door. Essek was perched at their usual table, chatting with Yasha, who was setting up the bar for operations, and flipping through some papers. Beau hadn’t arrived yet, her day job with the Cobalt Soul wasn’t done until later in the evening. Molly slid comfortably next to Essek, kissing both Yasha and Essek’s foreheads on the way. Kingsley clapped Yasha on the back, gaining an affectionate punch to the shoulder in return. Verin greeted everyone politely before he muscled his way into the seat next to his brother. Lucien, the last to enter the bar, hissed at the bright fluorescent lights and pulled a chair to seat himself at the table. Quick and nonchalant pleasantly were exchanged as he sat.

Marius slid by the table and brought a round of drinks, greeting everyone he knew, before ducking back to his little room in the back. Marius was sorting through paper or something, at least that’s what Molly thought he was doing anyway.

As glasses were raised and cheers were exchanged the night truly began.

#critical role #cr fanfic #widomauk #shadowmauk #shadowgast #shadowidomauk #mighty nien

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engeorged · 1 year ago

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Please Feed the Bears

Words and concept by @fillthattank and @engeorged

Artwork by @badoobers

Having spent four years in teacher training college and 8 years working in shitty schools, Dan was done being a teacher. Like most of his colleagues, he loved the kids and teaching, but the red tape was killing him. He was still spending hours and hours every evening lesson planning, marking and setting goals. Even just engaging with parents through the new app the school had imposed took an hour a night now. He was done.

The job had taken his whole life. He didn’t have a social life any more, he didn’t have time for friends, let alone dating. He used to be hot! Six pack abs and thick biceps left over from his rugby days, but late night pizza orders and rushed meals whilst sat in his sofa marking had put an end to that. He wasn’t unfit as such, (he still cycled to work!) but he had a definite little pot belly now with a jiggle when he walked and his ass was forcing him to buy jeans two sizes too big.

He’d begun to put aside a little money each month to go travelling and it was now time to cash in. He gleefully handed in his resignation and booked his tickets. He was going to fulfil a life long dream and tour America. His money wouldn’t last long but he’d be able to get a little cash in hand job every few months and settle down for a bit and that should last him. All his mates did it when he was training and he was beginning to feel like he had missed out, so now was his chance. The morning of the flight came and he felt so free and so excited! He’d sold everything he had accumulated in his shitty flat, gotten rid of his bike and the keys to the flat. All he had in the world was shoved into his backpack. The world was his oyster.

Three months later

The bubble burst two weeks into the adventure when he was robbed on a metro in New York. All his cash and bank cards were gone. When he had phoned his insurance company, they had gone bust overnight and so there was no payout. He refused to phone his parents. He was 30, that would be so humiliating. And they wouldn’t be gracious about it, they had already told him this was a childish idea to go travelling on a whim like a teenager. They’d probably give him money to come home, where he’d end up living in their house for a few years whilst he did supply teaching jobs in horrific schools. No thank you, he’d sort this out himself. He got a job for a few months, cash in hand with no questions asked, doing deliveries for a pizza place in New York which gave him enough money to travel west and a constant supply of free pizza. Sure it was on the bus, and sure he’d put on a few more pounds but at least he’d done it himself. He arrived in what the bus driver called ‘Butt Fuck Nowhere’ ready to work.

He booked himself into a cheap and sleazy hotel. He had enough money for one night which meant he needed to find himself a job fast. After making a few enquiries he found the only real place to work for foreigners was in a massive theme park just on the edges of the town. He hiked his way there and found the employment office and made his case. In lieu of a formal interview, the guy looked him up and down and made his assessment. Dan was 6’5 and so being tall, tall, he would be the park's main mascot, Buster. Buster was a big bear and the costume was huge, with loads of room inside. The only upside was that his face wouldn’t be entirely covered by the costume. Instead there was a little hat with bear ears he would have to wear.

He would have to do a trial before he was offered the job for real, and the eventual pay would be $15 an hour, which didn't seem like a lot. Whilst Dan signed the contract, the boss called for his helper who was a short burly guy in his late twenties called Mitch, with a gravely voice that made it sound like he smoked 40 a day. Mitch’s eyes perked up when he saw Dan.

‘He’ll do!’ Said Mitch, his eyes hungrily taking in Dan’s face and height.

‘Hey!’ Said Dan, holding out his hand. Mitch shook it enthusiastically.

‘Hope you’re hungry!’ Said Mitch

‘What?’ Said Dan, a little confused but he began taking off his clothes ready to get into the costume. He was about to pull it on when Mitch stopped him and pushed him over to a pair of scales. ‘Step on’ Mitch encouraged him.

‘I’m a little husky at the moment!’ Dan replied nervously

‘That’s not a bad thing.’ Mitch replied as he took the reading from the digital scales.

‘Hang on? Why did you need that?’ Dan asked, realising that that was weird.

Instead of replying, Mitch just held out the costume. Dan slid it on, pulling his arms through the holes. It wasn’t as heavy as it looked and was a little baggy round his middle but it seemed to fit ok.

‘Why did you need my weight?’ He tried again as he did the zip up, but he was bundled out of the office and into the park without an answer

It was early, but already, Dan could see people walking around. He wasn't entirely sure if they were fellow employees or visitors. They weren't wearing any uniform, but they looked like adult men. Way more adult men than he'd expect at a theme park.

Years of teaching had killed most inhibitions and fear of embarrassment within Dan, so he jumped up and down, danced a bit, acted like he thought a man in a bear-suit was expected to act.

"Hey, it's Buster Bear!" he heard someone say.

Dan turned round, and waved. It was a group of guys, six he counted, looking around 30. A big variety of heights and builds, though they all looked pretty hairy.

One of the guys came running towards him.

"C'mon guys, let's bust the bear!' he said, to the others.

When the guy arrived, Dan didn't even have time to talk. The guy shoved a hot dog right into his mouth. Dan was a bit shocked, but started chewing. It wasn't a bad hot dog.

No sooner had Dan swallowed that another guy shoved a hot dog into his mouth. Dan was even more surprised, but hey, the customer is king, and he was kinda hungry anyway, so he chewed and swallowed.

The six guys proceeded to shove a hot dog each into his mouth. He wasn’t expecting that at all but as he was on probation he didn’t want to challenge it. His minder stood to the side happily watching and not saying a word. Was this a thing here? It didn’t take long but he ended up eating six hot dogs in a short space of time.

This first guy moved to feed a second one but Mitch stepped in. ‘You know the rules, big guy. Let someone else have a go. Move along now!’

Admitting defeat the six guys moved on laughing and patting each other on the back. When they were at a safe distance he turned to Mitch ‘What the hell was that?’

‘Did no one tell you?’ He laughed. ‘It’s just a cute thing we have here. When you see Buster bear you have to feed him something. It’s just for fun! You’ll get used to it!’

Dan was so confused. It was one thing giving the bear a small thing but he’d just eaten six whole hot dogs and he’d been on the job for 15 minutes! Also why were they grown ass men? Theme parks are for kids right? He wasn’t even sure what question to ask first. He opened his mouth to ask something and found a churro in it. Two young bearded guys had snuck up behind him. They happily began feeding him a big churro each. Dan was starting to feel pretty full already but he really needed this job. He’d have time to ask questions in a moment. So he played along. Rubbing his furry tummy and chewing he ate a churro from each of them.

As they walked away, clearly happy he heard one of them comment about how hot he was which gave him a little rush of pleasure, followed by a touch of embarrassment.

Turning to Mitch he formulated his question ‘Where are the kids?’

Mitch looked at him like he’d said something crazy inappropriate and just shook his head. ‘Dude this place is for adults only! Now look lively. Here comes another group of customers.

Totally confused, Dan turned and saw four guys coming towards him with huge bellies and carrying buckets of loaded fries. Before he could say anything, a chubby hand stuffed a fist full of fries into his mouth. They were hot and salty and covered in bacon and cheese and so good. He could ignore the full feeling with fries as tasty as this. A few fistfuls in, and the dudes started fighting over who got to feed him the next lot.

‘Bro wait your turn?’ The lead guy said in a thick southern accent.

‘This is my turn dick face?’ Replied a guy who looked like he could be his brother, shoving him out of the way with his fat ass.

Dan found himself amidst four angry fat guys who’d clearly had a few too many beers and his teaching skills suddenly kicked in.

‘Boys, there’s plenty of room in my tank, now just keep the fries coming!’

It calmed the situation a bit but still was a little tense. A few of the guys were squaring up to each other and getting riled up. Guided by Dan the fries were soon put away turn by turn into his filling tank. Pacified and pleased with themselves the men staggered away punching one another on the arms as they went.

The four buckets of fries on top of the hotdogs and churros suddenly weighed heavy on Dan's stomach. He belched loudly and gave his belly a rub. ‘How come you didn’t intervene man?’ He asked Mitch

‘You seemed to be handling those dumb asses pretty well yourself?’ Mitch laughed back

‘I thought it was one thing per person? You said that was the rule?’

‘Yeah but they had the golden buckets. They paid extra. They can feed you the whole lot if they want!’ Mitch explained. ‘Let’s keep going, bud!’

Dan uncomfortably followed on behind Mitch, feeling the heavy food settling as his stomach set about the task of digesting. Over the next hour or so they encountered several more guys, all keen to feed something to Buster. Dan played the part, eating up the burgers, candy apples and handfuls of popcorn. All the food they seemed to serve at this place was full-on junk food. It didn’t hurt that it all tasted so good. The pace was fast but not too bad. He felt like he was keeping up. He’d always had a big appetite and would often find himself eating his feelings when he was back in school. And he needed this job. He couldn’t bring himself to contact his parents. There were just two more hours of the trial left, he could do this. He was beginning to notice that the costume was feeling a little claustrophobic. It felt super roomy when he put it on but he was feeling the material clinging to his skin a bit now. It was super hot inside too. He could really do with something to drink. He would look for some dudes with beers or something if that was allowed.

The next encounter he had was two good looking college bros with backwards caps and muscle tees. Unfortunately they didn’t have beers but they fed Dan a funnel cake each. He’d never seen one of these before but the sweet dough tasted amazing. Afterwards though he began to feel a little uncomfortably full. The last few bites were a little hard work. He could feel grease and the pressure of food in his packed stomach reaching a slightly more painful place. When they had gone he asked Mitch if he could take a ten minute break. Mitch reluctantly agreed but said he couldn’t take the suit off. He took him behind one of the rides where they found a little bench. Dan eased himself down and instantly regretted sitting. The pressure reached a peak which made him wince and stand back up. Tentatively, he sat back down and leant back on his arms. Under the suit, he arched his back to give his belly space to expand. Mitch grinned. ‘Ready to give up yet?’

‘No man, I’m good’ Dan lied.

‘There’s pockets!’ Mitch offered smiling still

‘What?’ Dan was feeling a little light headed with how full he was feeling and he didn’t really know what Mitch was talking about.

Mitch leant over and pulled a small zip down on the side by Dan's hip. ‘If you need to give your belly a rub, there’s a small pocket. Trust me on this. You need all the help you can get before the lunch rush!’

The prospect of a lunch rush was something Dan would need to deal with in a few minutes but for now he eased his hand into the side of his costume and felt the warm flesh of his distended furry belly. He couldn’t trust himself to think back over how much food was in him, it would just make him queasy. For now he just closed his eyes and gave his tight belly a good rub.

‘Come on buster!’ Mitch said after a too short amount of time. ‘You need to be back on the tarmac!’

Begrudgingly Dan stood, admittedly feeling a little better after the rub. He could almost feel the food redistributing itself as he moved.

‘Hang on, What did you mean lunch rush?’ He asked his guide as they walked.

Mitch just smiled. ‘Happy hour!’ He repeated cryptically.

Leading the way, Mitch took Dan back into the park where they made their way to an area set up next to a steep roller coaster. A little food hut decorated to look like a large picnic basket was serving food to a long queue of guys, all who started cheering as they saw Buster Bear approaching. This made Dan's stomach lurch a little. That was a lot of guys buying food. ‘Should we keep moving?’ He asked Mitch nervously.

‘Why would we do that? This is your chance to prove you deserve the job.’ He pointed at a large wooden throne just next to the clearing. ‘Take a seat’

Reluctantly Dan shuffled towards the chair and sat down. It was surprisingly comfy and the position of the seat meant that he was nearly stood up which put no extra pressure on his already packed belly. He gulped as he realised that the design was probably on purpose.

One by one the men left the queue and joined a new one in front of Dan. They all had their fast food clutched in their hands ready to feed Buster. Mitch leant in and whispered into Dan's ear. ‘If you can survive this, the job's yours. And did you read the small print?’

Dan shook his head nervously. ‘No?’ He admitted, looking to find a way out of this. There was no way this was worth $15 an hour.

‘At the end of the day we weigh you and you get $50 per pound you put on. You get a bonus for the more food you eat!’

That changed things for Dan. He really needed that cash. He’d nearly used up the last of his money staying at the motel in town and without this job, he’d not have enough for the next few days. A few hundred dollars could really come in handy right now. He could eat a lot? What’s 10 lbs of food look like? That’s $500 dollars. Surely that could be doable? He set his jaw and nodded to Mitch ‘let’s go’

The stream of food that followed was unreal. Each guy shoved one thing into Dan's open mouth and he chewed and swallowed like his life depended on it. Corn dogs, tacos, hamburgers, onion rings and fries all disappeared down under the fur of the costume into his hidden but rapidly expanding belly. He didn’t allow himself time to consider how much food there was or how he was going to feel afterwards, he just kept the thought of the dollars ringing in his ears. Ice cream and donuts, beers and sodas all sucked down into his filling tank. The guys queuing were loving it and Dan was fully playing the part of a greedy bear. Growling and snarling as their sweaty palms pushed the calorific food into his mouth. Mitch’s face slowly turned from a smiling sneer, laughing at Dan's fate, to one of admiration. He’d been with a lot of Busters and Dan was eating like one of the best. He’d spent many an afternoon with a sorry dude in a bear costume throwing up into a bin after a shift but this guy seemed to be an absolute eating unit. Towards the end of the happy hour though he started being a little worried. This guy had eaten a lot. Like, too much. Even with the bear costume on he could see that his gut was beginning to push against the fabric.

As Dan was being fed a large chicken tender the bell went to signal the end of happy hour. Dan looked a little confused as he snapped out of his feeding frenzy. The rest of the guys in the queue all shared a collective groan as Mitch told them that the bear needed to head back to his cave for his nap whilst Dan looked on, totally dazed. As Mitch shooed away the queue, the volume of food inside Dan’s belly suddenly made itself very known. He felt the skin over his belly stretched and tight and the pressure that had built up inside him became very apparent. He had never in his whole life felt as full as he did right now. In the distance he heard Mitch talking to him. He wasn’t sure what he was saying but he nodded and allowed Mitch to help him to his feet. The new weight in front of him made him stagger a little at first as he felt the food lurch inside his belly balloon. A large belch escaped and he found himself laughing. Mitch led him through the park round the back, fortunately not encountering any more punters eager to offload some more food into his aching gut.

Coming round a little bit he found himself back in the offices, just him and Mitch, who was looking at him in a concerned way. ‘I said are you ok bud?’

Dan belched again in response. ‘I think I’m ok? I ate a lot.’

‘Yeah. You did.’ Mitch nodded in agreement. ‘You wanna take off the costume?’

Dan nodded. He went to undo the zip but found the fabric was restricting his movement. Mitch fished around under his neck and pulled the zip down to the bottom of his ribs. The rush of cool air was like heaven as he peeled his arms out of the costume. He went to pull the zipper down but his bloated midsection was now an obstacle. Pulling it out, he managed to get the zip to slide down to the underneath of his belly which pushed itself through. Dan looked up into the mirror on the wall opposite. Shocked, he saw the full extent of his four hours of being stuffed by random strangers. His belly was enormous. The furry skin stretched tight over the mass of food contained inside. Round and expansive, his belly looked like it had been photoshopped. His gut had completely filled the baggy costume.

‘Holy fucking Mac and cheese balls’ Mitch exclaimed reaching over to give his belly a poke. Even his heavy handed push hardly made a dent in it.

‘It feels like I’ve swallowed quick drying cement!’ Dan complained. ‘Help me out of this fucking thing!’

Mitch pulled the costume down round his ankles, headbutting his engorged stomach by accident. ‘Shit man, sorry!’ He said rubbing his head

Standing there in just his pants Dan couldn’t quite believe what he was seeing. He was enormous. His furry belly and body made him look like he was still wearing the fat bear costume.

Mitch nodded at the scales. ‘Wanna see how much we owe you?’ He asked

‘I’m gonna bankrupt you!’ Dan managed to joke as he stepped on.

Mitch whistled, clearly impressed. ‘Fuck me man. You’ve done well there today! I’d have to check but I’m pretty sure that’s a company record!’

‘Tell me man!’ Dan pleaded.

"We owe you $850 man! You’ve eaten 17 lbs of food!!’

Dan nearly passed out with shock. Taking another look in the mirror his distended belly looked like he was pregnant. Sticking out from under his ribs it rolled down in a wide curve till it tapered in where the ghost of his Adonis belt framed the underside.. All he wanted to do right now was sleep this off

‘You’ve definitely got the job!’ Mitch reassured him. ‘See you again tomorrow?’

————————————————————

If you want to continue Dans story yourself you can head here where you will find a chat bot programmed to be Dan at the end of this story!

Also find the rest of my stories here

#belly expansion #gainer fiction #gay gainer #stuffing #belly fiction #gainer stories #male gaining #stuffing art #gainer story #gainer artwork #big bear

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quantumripple · 4 months ago

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Ooooh the hardest question

My heart of hearts is tempted to say that Lisa engages her rich white woman drive and they hire an interior designer to design their house. Taylor is fine with it bc she had no idea what to do and they end up with one of those bland show houses. But then over time they make it their own, getting rid of some of the useless aesthetic items, ass their own little touches.

Taylor would want a bookshelf and high back chair, but she’ll hate the one the designer put in and they’d throw it out and end up with a more worn down but comfier chair that is totally coincidentally the perfect size for both of them to share if they squeeze a little.

I feel like they’d set aside a portion of the house for “work stuff” might even go the route that Taylor did with her lair and have a multi-story building and just have a floor for terrariums (for Taylor) and some good computer hardware/servers for Lisa.

Also they 100% have seperate rooms but like… almost every night there’s always some reason to share.

I like the idea that over time it just becomes very… comfy. They have their ‘coffee mugs’ next to the pot and Taylor makes them both one to drink every morning after her run. They have their little routines and the house slowly morphs to fit that.

Idk I like the idea that they start w a soulless designer house that gains character over time.

Now as for arguments… they’d argue, everybody does. But if canon tells me anything it’s that they absolutely suck at staying mad at each other. Like Lisa forces Taylors hand one time with Victor and Taylors like “omg there will be a talk about this” and then she just fucking forgets she’s meant to be mad lmao.

I feel like 95% of their arguments are just about silly stuff, where both of them know it’s just a dumb thing to argue abt but they’re both unfathomably stubborn and dig their heels in. Like I can’t see them having those arguments about “big” things, but Taylor 100% has slept on Brian/Rachel’s couch because the “do we have the bed face the sun or perpendicular to the sun” argument got too heated (friendly reminder that these two theoretically have seperate beds)

okay my fellow wormies im going insane. full on delulu and i need your help to get worse if taylor and lisa got a house together how do you think they would decorate it and what would they argue about, go

#worm #parahumans #lisa wilbourn #taylor hebert #smugbug

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thesunicarusfellfor · 4 years ago

Note

WAIT WAIT— what if 👀 what if Yandere!Tubbo and Yandere!Tommy falling for the reader at the same time

BROO— THE ANGST POSSIBILITIES

ooooooOOOOO DAMN this one is gonna be good! I love the way you think! So I wrote this as headcanons, but I will write this as an actual story if requested. ^^

This is not exactly implied romantic??? I'm still scared about writing their characters as directly romantic????? I'll probably get braver about it but still lowkey worried.

Yandere!C!Tommy x GN!Reader x Yandere!C!Tubbo Headcanon/Fic

Tommy, at first, completely denied even acknowledging your existence.

Until he saw someone interact with you.

Then he would start pulling out his sword or glaring at them from across the room.

He would definitely pin them in an alleyway and threaten every single one of their canon lives.

Tommy, please. Niki was just trying to give you cookies.

He's the kind of Yandere that would greatly keep his distance both physically, emotionally and mentally. Basically, he would be a Tsundere Yandere.

Tubbo, on the other hand, would be extremely sweet to you.

Need netherite? He had an extra few ingots ready in his pockets!

Interacting with someone who wasn't him? Was he not good enough for you??? Fine. You don't deserve him.

He would cry to you and make you feel guilty OR completely ignore you for a week straight until you come crawling back to him and apologizing.

Straight up can flip emotions like a switch.

The first time either of them realized the other liked you as well, was when they were listening to Mellohi on their bench, watching the sunset when they saw you having a conversation with Ranboo at the bottom of the cliff.

"What're they doing talking to him?" Tommy growled lowly and leaned forward to glared at the enderman who was talking to you. He reached for his bow n' arrow before Tubbo grabbed his arm, stopping him in his tracks, "What? I don't want them talking to anyone but me."

"What do you mean 'anyone but you'?! You avoid them like they're a virus!" Tubbo stared at him, digging his fingers into Tommy's bicep a small bit to show his anger a bit more, "They should only be talking to me."

The blond turned towards his brunet friend and yanked his arm out of his grasp, "Excuse me?" He glared into Tubbo's dull blue eyes, gritting his teeth, "You do nothing but give them stuff!"

"And you treat them like shit and avoid them!" The smaller of the two retorted angrily, trying to keep his tone level enough to where you didn't hear.

Mellohi, the music that had been playing mere moments ago, slowly came to a stop and left nothing but silence and tension in the air. You had noticed them arguing from below, but Ranboo (who had heard their entire argument) decided to pull you away from them and bring you to the Tundra.

"Are you trying to take everything from me?!" Tommy tightened his grip on his diamond sword, although part of him knew that if Tubbo equipped his netherite armour, there would be absolutely no competition whatsoever.

"Take things from you?! They're a human being and you choose to ignore that fact when you ignore them or call them terrible names!"

"I treat everyone like that! You already have Ranboo, I don't understand why you're chasing after them with hearts in your eyes when you're fuckin' married! Loyal much! Oh wait, you aren't loyal, you EXILED ME!"

"It's platonic! I told you that already! And you're starting this again now, Tommy?!"

Ranboo actually felt nervous leaving you alone around both Tommy AND/OR Tubbo after hearing their entire argument that day.

Tommy, although now a lot nicer, became extremely clingy towards you and constantly would walk over and drag you away mid-conversation with anyone that wasn't him. ESPECIALLY if you were talking to Tubbo.

Man would bring you everywhere with him if you would let him.

Netherite mining? Get your pick.

To get new discs? Pack your bags, we're going on an adventure.

Straight up does everything he can do to get you away from Tubbo because he's petty.

He tried giving you as many gifts as Tubbo, but mans is broke.

Tubbo would get extremely annoyed by Tommy even just walking through the area when he was with you.

Would start to hold your hand or link arms with you (if you're comfortable), just so Tommy couldn't pull you away as easily.

Started to try guilt-tripping you into living in Snowchester, and even tried to get you to live in the mansion.

Ranboo actually lied to Tubbo, saying he was scared of enderwalking and hurting you, to convince Tubbo not to guilt-trip you further into living in the mansion.

Tubbo's constant gift-giving got so much more extreme.

Want netherite ingots to make armour?

Nope. No lifting a finger.

He already made you fully enchanted netherite god armour anyway.

Has definitely tried to convince Ranboo to let him involve you in the platonic marriage.

"Ranboo! My beloved!" Tubbo called jokingly, walking into their home. He kicked the snow on his boots before pulling down his hood and taking off his hat, hanging it on the hook as he took off his footwear, "I have a proposition for you!"

The monochrome-coloured man lifted his head and set down the journal in his hand, the ink likely still wet judging by the quill in his hand, "Yeah? What's that?" He placed the feathered pen in the pot of ink and turned to face his platonic husband.

"What would you say to extending our marriage to three people? Like a polyamorous relationship. Like Sapnap, Karl and Big Q?" Tubbo sat down in the chair beside him, watching as Ranboo was left reeling for a few seconds.

"W-well, one, I think you mean expanding. Two, with who?!" The tall male sat up quickly, bumping his leg on the table from his minor flailing, "A-and, and, what about Michael? Are you sure they can be trusted with him?"

Tubbo held out his hand to calm his friend down, making his friend put his hands down so he didn't accidentally hit something, "You know what I meant, and (Y/n)! Y'know... Like, the one with (h/l) (h/c) hair, (tall/short)! (Y/n), them!"

"Yeah, yeah, I know who they are, it's just..." He paused to gather his words, glancing away from his friend. In all reality, he wouldn't mind inviting you into the platonic marriage, even if he knew Tubbo felt more romantic feelings towards you. He didn't shut up about it. It was the fact that he was worried about what kind of mental manipulation Tubbo would do to you if you did agree to be in the marriage. Or even what Tommy would do to you or Tubbo!

"...Just?"

'Your relationship with Tommy is beyond screwed already... Imagine what would happen if both of his friends left him to be in a platonic relationship with me. Tubbo, all of us would be in severe danger.' He thought silently before taking a breath. "I-I don't have my enderwalking state under control... I'm already scared for Michael enough, and I don't want to hurt her as well... Give it some time and we'll see. Please.." He whispered, lying through his teeth. Ranboo knew you were damn good at protecting yourself and could knock his long and lanky ass to the dirt within seconds.

Tubbo's bright shiny eyes seemed to glaze over for a moment as his smile began to falter, "Ah... Yeah. I guess that makes sense. For their safety I suppose." His normal look returned and he gave him a smile, "Yeah, that does make a lot of sense. I'll ask again next month to see what happens."

"What... What about Tommy-"

"What about him?" He demanded sharply, his smile vanishing in mere seconds which caught Ranboo off guard yet again, "He doesn't need to be in their life. He would do more harm to them than good!"

Ranboo was left gaping, his mouth moving but not creating any sounds. He watched as Tubbo eyed him carefully before he got up, murmuring something about grabbing food then going to bed.

Once the goat hybrid was completely out of sight, Ranboo reached for his memory book and took the quill again.

'Protect (Y/n) from Tubbo and Tommy. Get them out of DreamSMP.'

Ranboo was scared for you.

He was stuck watching as these crazy two men fought over you, threatened you, manipulated you... It was worrying, to say the least.

Don't get him wrong. If he didn't have an adopted son, a platonic husband that he still cared about despite him being another Dream at this point, and a Syndicate to protect him from, he would've packed everything and ran, bringing you with him.

He was practically walking on eggshells around this man that he had once been extremely close to!

It practically sent shivers down his spine...

Eventually, it got to the point where Ranboo had gone to your house in the ungodly hours of the morning to talk to you.

This man LITERALLY crept into Tubbo's room AND Tommy's house to make sure they were both asleep before going to talk to you.

"Ran... Boo?" You asked, yawning softly as you leaned against the door, your hair all frizzy and messed up, "What's up? It'sssss... Like 5:30am. The sun is barely even up..."

"(Y/n)... Can we go inside? Please... There's something very wrong.." He murmured softly, his memory book tightly held in his grasp as he glanced around. Tommy could be waking up sometime soon, and he did not want to get caught talking to you. He would certainly be down a canon life before he could even say 'sorry'.

You watched the nervous man in front of you and nodded before stepping aside to let him in. Peaking outside, you looked around for what was causing him to panic but went back inside once you didn't see anything. "What's wrong?" Softening your tone, you gestured for him to sit at the table while you made coffee.

Once he had a fresh mug of coffee in front of him, Ranboo slowly began to gather his nerve and speak. He told you everything he could remember, and even opened his memory book to tell you about the things he didn't remember. Everything from the fight where Tommy and Tubbo's friendship completely went downhill a few months ago, to the threats Tubbo used against Tommy, the manipulation against you, the threats he had received by talking to you, and even Tubbo's violent mood switches when talking about you or Tommy.

The entire time, you just sat there wide-eyed as you listened to him ramble on about his fears and worries, and everything in between. He even mentioned wanting to actually divorce Tubbo because of how scared he was for you and his own life. "I don't... Not... Believe you... But this is- this is a little difficult to believe." You knew the enderman hybrid wouldn't lie about something so serious, and he definitely wouldn't be shaking like a leaf if it was a joke or a lie.

"Y-yeah, I expected that... But I really do care about your safety, honestly. You know I wouldn't joke about this kind of thing, especially about Tubbo." He murmured softly, looking at his crown laying on the table in front of him, "In all honesty, I came here this early because I was scared about Tommy trying to kill me if he saw me talking to you..."

"He wouldn't ki-"

The door slammed open dramatically and there was a cheerful shout of your name, "(Y/n)!!! Let's go mining for diamon-" Tommy walked into your kitchen, only to freeze mid-step and midfacial expression. His expression went from surprised to annoyance to a grim smile, "Hello Ranboo!" He gave him a smile that was more like baring his teeth as he twirled his axe nonchalantly.

He was going to hurt him...

#tommyinnit #tommyinnit x reader #dream smp x reader #yandere tommyinnit #yandere tommyinnit x reader #yandere tubbo x reader #yandere tubbo #ranboo #ranboolive #dsmp #tommyinnit dreamsmp #tubbo dreamsmp #ranboo dream smp #tommyinnit dream smp #tubbo dream smp #c!tommyinnit #c!tommy #c!tubbo #c!ranboo

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ezlebe · 3 years ago

Text

Greg freezes at a thunk on the deck somewhat above and to the aft, mid-pulling a hoodie over his head. He peeks up slowly, scratching hard at the stubble at his cheek. “Fuck,” he mutters, looking around his small berth with a sharp drag of his teeth. “Fuck.”

He reaches out and vacillates between worldly objects for a few seconds, then hastily grabs for his aluminum water bottle at a sharper clunk, and ducks while holding it close to his chest. He pauses at the bottom of the stairs, looking out to the pale light of the sky, just crossing into 6AM and blue stretching into a sunny morning. It’s a weird time to break onto the boat, for sure – he’s usually the last one up, so like is everyone docked around just like watching this happen?

(Including Mondale, who probably took a salmon skin snack and fell back to sleep.)

He inhales a deep, hopefully silent breath, then swallows hard, cursing Tom’s pre-neymoon, or whatever he called it, leaving Greg to like get blamed for the boat suddenly getting robbed. He reaches up and grabs around steps into the upper level, peeking up, only to stare at a familiar pair of shoulders hunched at the back near the hold and winding repair knots into a crab pot.

“Tom?” Greg says, faintly, blinking hard and feeling the tension drop to his toes.

“I said you had to fix this,” Tom says, without looking up, yanking another knot into the net.

Greg drops his eyes to the pot, then glances to the three others he’s let sit for the past couple days. “Oh?” He tries, lifting his voice into a question. “You did?”

Tom raises his eyes with a look that contains very little humor, so that’s… great. The pre-neymoon did not go well, clear enough.

“You’re like not supposed to be back until – uh, Monday,” Greg says, dropping back under the deck and setting the water bottle to the side. He briefly scrubs a hand through his hair, then forces himself up and into the morning light; he hasn’t even had a coffee yet, or even like… a snack bar.

“I did the seine,” he says, pointing to the big wrapped net and the few mismatched lines of repair in the hatch.

“We barely use that thing,” Tom says, which is like not even true, and yanking so hard on a knot that even Mondale looks up at the jerking motion. “The fishery starts in two weeks, Gregory; you want to be caught with our fucking asses red in the air?”

Greg stares for a pair of beats, a little frustrated, but mostly feeling relief like he’s never felt in his life. “I thought you were going to – uh, to captain Uncle Logan’s – ”

“Nope, sorry,” Tom says, brows going up, though he doesn’t like look away from mending the pot. “I realized you were too incompetent to do this yourself. You still hit your head on the deck, for fucks’ sake.”

Greg tries to look offended, rather than letting the concern slowly tossing up his chest appear on his face. He briefly glances to the other dock, full of the bigger seiners and trollers, a few bearing the Roy crest; the pre-neymoon went really bad.

“I’m going to, uh…” Greg wets his lips, backing into the small galley and pulling open a cabinet with a yank. He stares at the layers of colorful boxes, then tugs out a yellow one. “Make pancakes?”

“Great,” Tom mutters, without even making a crack about the pre-mix.

Greg pinches his face for a beat, then ducks back in the galley. He kneels down and opens the fridge for the milk, already wincing, but it’s still got a couple of days, so he doesn’t have to go for the shelf-stable stuff. He separates the batter and slices in the last bruised banana into his own, then sets it aside after a piling the cakes atop his plate. He glances down to Mondale, begging next to him, then peeks out to the deck, finding Tom staring at the water instead of the pot. It’s definitely… working up to a tense morning, but at least he is back? Maybe?

He finishes frying Tom’s with all his accoutrements, then stares at the dirty dishes, eventually wedging them into the small sink and hoping Tom won’t get his hackles up about it. He will eventually, definitely, but like maybe after he tells Greg what’s like going on with him.

He ducks his head out and catches Karolina sipping coffee and jerking her head at Tom in the opposite slip. He waves her off, exhaling a nervous laugh, which seems to grab Tom’s attention all by itself.

Tom doesn’t exactly take the plate aggressively, too polite for it, probably, but he does scowl when he slips into his usual side of the table. He cuts out a sliver, tines scratching against the hard plastic, then shoves it in his mouth, only to pause, then chew slow, as his eyes lift to Greg. “You put the cheese and bacon bits?”

“Yeah, and onion. I know you like them like a – ” Greg curls his nose, mostly for effect, because he’s eaten one by force and he knows it not bad… but it is wrong. “Like, a baked potato.”

Tom nods with a short drop of his head, tapping briefly at the edge of the plate, then cuts another sliver with a pair of careful movements. He eats it, then his shoulders hunch, as he exhales harsh through his nose. “Fuck, Greg.”

Greg blinks and raises his brows, then jumps a bit when the banana on the bottom of his fork falls to his plate. He stabs it back up, shoving it in his mouth and speaking around it. “Tom?”

“They want to send me to Naknek.”

Greg nods slow, wracking his mind, but – no, he doesn’t know what that means? Is it a term he’s never heard? “What?”

“Shiv, and your uncle,” Tom says, chewing on his cheek, finger tapping at the edge of his fork in an uneven tune. “Kendall. Are talking about sending me there – as in, after I got married – to Naknek to head some new cannery they got out there.”

Greg raises his brows; okay, so it’s a place, but: “I – I don’t know where – ”

“Jesus, Greg,” Tom mutters, as he lifts his hand, doing the sign-symbol thing where it looks like the state, then pointing at the crease of between his curled middle finger and jotting pointer finger. “Out the fuck here.”

“Oh jeez, that’s – ” Greg reaches out and touches lightly at the vague location of their Catherine Island against Tom’s thumb. It’s technically closer than Akutan, but Tom sounds far less enthused than he had about that new position. “And you wouldn’t be on a boat?”

“Uh, no,” Tom says, dropping his hand to pick up his fork, cutting out a neat triangle of pancake. “No, the fuck I would not, Greg.”

“But you – that’s like your job?” Greg says, trying to remember if Tom has ever mentioned doing anything else but fishing, or wanting to, and suddenly concerned he missed some hint. He hears his voice emerge fainter than he’d like, “You don’t want to fish anymore?”

“I do,” Tom snaps, as he shoves another bite in his mouth and sweeps his opposite hand up in a frustrated gesture.

Greg blinks rapidly, “Oh.”

“Honestly?” Tom mutters, rubbing at his forehead while stabbing at his plate. “I hope to one day go down with this boat, Greg,”

“I kind of don’t?” Greg says, swallowing pancake with some difficult down a dry throat. He’s had way too many thoughts and like actual nightmares, recently, about Tom capsizing under ice out in the Bering Sea to be totally comfortable just joking about it.

“I’d make sure you got out,” Tom says, waving the fork, as if that’s anywhere near the point. “You’ve got your life suspenders.”

Greg stares for a beat, then scoffs softly under his breath. “Like, I meant you? I – ”

“As a compromise, you ninny, let’s imagine you stick me out here on the deck when I’m a ninety-year-old vegetable, and sink it and me both out in the Gulf,” Tom interrupts, as he gestures now around the entire boat, leaning around with enough force to rock it. “Either way.”

Greg tips his head to the side, suffering a brief imagining of that situation and – It’s like way too early to be contemplating mortality. It’s totally bumming him out. “I don’t want to think about it, like is – is all I’m saying.”

Tom exhales a harsh sigh, head shaking while muttering something unintelligible under his breath. It sounds a bit derogatory, and even if it isn’t, he’d probably make something up that is if Greg’s tries to ask.

“So are – what are you going to do?” Greg asks, swirling a banana in the syrup, then popping it into his mouth.

Tom markedly pauses, fork going still on the plate, and stares at at it for a too long time. “I think I’m just having a tantrum, Greg. Throwing a big fit over something, before I just… I do it.”

“Oh,” Greg says, his earlier relief fully fading against the anxiety that’s already been eating at him since Tom ceded the boat. It’s way more than anxiety, really, but he would rather take a swig from Uncle Logan’s chew can than admit it. “So th-that’ll be Shiv, then? Won’t it?”

Tom takes a sharp breath and looks up with a start, his eyes suddenly wide, breath oddly punching out of him. “What?”

Greg scratches a hand through his hair, wishing he hadn’t opened his mouth. “Uh, like. Um, pushing you and – and the boat out… to sink when you’re ninety.”

Tom blinks hard and drops his shoulders, staring a beat, then looks markedly past Greg’s head. “No, that’s on you. Unless this is some clumsy way you’re trying to give it back.”

“No, like I – I’m like honored, or whatever, you know,” Greg says, shoving his hair behind his ears and shifting on his side of the table, then dropping his hand and digging his thumbnail into the usual groove in the table. “But really, Tom… it won’t be the same, I guess? Without you.”

“Oh,” Tom intones, as he exhales a deep sigh, briefly scraping his fork against the plate before dropping it entirely with a heavy clank. “I really wanted to take you with me, Greg, don’t get me wrong – get you in the real intense places, dragging up kings and opilios and getting iced around by the spray, have someone I could trust out there… but I don’t want anyone else with the Lady Como and – ” He shakes his head once hard. “And I can’t have both.”

“No, I – I get that,” Greg says, dropping his head in a nod, “I like can’t imagine… anyone else with it either.”

It would be some kind of wrong to watch see Lady Como go out and know it wasn’t Tom, whose been crabbing and fishing on her for twenty years, but some stranger who doesn’t know about that engine idle thing that’s just sort of annoying or that the handle has to be jerked twice on one of the hold hatches. And what would happen to Mondale? Shiv is in and out of town so much, too, so would he just be someone else’s dog for half the year?

“But I’m apparently not slated for that anymore, anyway,” Tom says, clearing his throat, then clearing it again, louder, “Instead, I’ll get to sit in some packing plant and make sure no one cuts off their hand.”

Greg swallows, hard, “Are you – ?”

“Did you know we’re not exclusive?” Tom interrupts, his voice suddenly halfway cracking, as he speaks to the table between them. “Me and Shiv.”

Greg drops his own eyes and stares at his plate for a beat, breath briefly shallow – is this…?

“I just…” Tom exhales a croaking laugh, absent any humor and almost wheezy. “Found that out yesterday.”

Greg lifts his head while his stomach turns to a rock. “Tom.”

“No big deal, though. We’re… adults, I guess,” Tom says, in a galling imitation of a brush off, as he squares his shoulders against the back of his bench seat. “It’s a perk of being in a relationship with a fisherman. There’s not a – no reasonable expectation of monogamy.”

Greg stares for a few beats, letting something uncomfortably like pure fury wash over him before he buries it with a pair of shallow breaths. He digs his thumb into the furrow between his brows, then bites his tongue hard, still unable to really speak.

“But did you know?” Tom repeats, his voice pitching tight toward cracking.

“Sort of, Tom,” Greg reminds, a low ache blooming under his ribs, “I – I told you about that thing with that guy from Juneau, remember? At your engagement party?”

Tom glances out the windows, as his face crumples wholly, somewhat horrifyingly, and he shakes his head. “I shouldn’t have pushed you off the boat.”

Greg wets his lips, then tilts his head to the side. It had been… a really bad day, all around, but he’s honestly not sure to this day if Tom was more upset for the rest of it because he broke safety protocol, because of Shiv, or because he lost his temper. Greg had been wary, afterward, really put off, but more hurt that Tom stopped looking him in the eye for so long.

“I – I just –” Tom says, then lifts a hand to rubs the heel of it up and down his forehead. “She’s still there?”

Greg raises his brows

“In Juneau,” Tom adds, mouth flattening and turning, as he offers a wan tilt of his head. “Remember? Because that’s where we went.”

Greg nods weakly and drags his hand from the table to curl at his front. He almost wants to text Roman, get him to ruin Shiv’s trip, but he would just turn around on Tom, too, when he got bored. “Fuck.”

“I lied to her,” Tom says, plainly ashamed, as if it’s on any kind of the same level as what Shiv has been doing to him. “Said you had an emergency with Mondale.”

“I mean, I-I do now sorta?” Greg says, looking toward the deck with a belated wince for the whole conversation. “Mondale is here.”

Mondale just looks like he’s thinking about dropping his toy in the water, though, which if he does at this very moment, then Greg and he are going to have an emergency.

“Tom, seriously, if you’re not cool with that –” Greg shakes his head. “Why would you – you’re still getting married?”

“You just don’t…” Tom falls quiet for a beat, staring at some middle distance through the windows behind Greg. He looks at Greg, again, something awful and resigned in his eyes. “Maybe, she’s right, I should be grown up about it. I’m on the other side of fucking forty. I don’t have a wife, or kids, or – or… shit, I’ve never even had a real house.”

“Is not having any of that so bad?” The words escape from Greg’s throat not entirely with his permission. He looks down at his hands, as he uneasily cracks the knuckle of his ring finger.

Tom is quiet for a long few moments, then his voice returns with a croak. “Greg, you can’t say that to me.”

“Why?” Greg asks, barely above a rasp himself.

“Because you – ” Tom pauses, then takes a shaky breath, his next words even less defined. “D-Do you?”

Greg lifts his shoulders weakly and gestures around them at the cramped galley slash pilothouse slash living room of the boat – their boat. He only briefly manages to make eye-contact with Tom, before he’s scratching hard at the inside of a brow and dropping his gaze back to the dregs of syrup in front of him. It swims in front of his eyes, and he drops his chin further, clenching his jaw when Tom stays silent across the table.

“No, you – hey, Greg, don’t – ” Tom cuts himself off, as his hands suddenly curl around Greg’s shoulders, drawing him bodily into Tom’s chest in a solid movement nothing like his fumbling words.

Greg only manages to keep himself from grabbing back for a few seconds, squeezing hard while he buries his head in Tom’s shoulder. He can’t be any of those things for Tom and he’s been aware of that from the beginning, hired on as a favor with no experience on any boat except a summer on a Princess cruise, but he hoped that he was something else, different but maybe as important, knowing how much Tom loves Lady Como and the work. He just never thought he’d end up being left with it.

“You want to know a fucked up secret?” Tom says, his mouth pressed hard to Greg’s ear, so every word is clipped and clear despite the low murmur of his voice. “From the moment I landed in Juneau, I just kept thinking about what you were up to. I was knocking shoulders with fancy fucks in a luxury tourist trap of a restaurant, eating an eighty dollar meal with someone I’m supposed to marry, but… But you were too fucking far away, Greg.”

Greg swallows hard at the evident catch in Tom’s voice.

“And then,” Tom pauses, to take a deep, guttural breath, “When Shiv gave that little speech on what she does and why she can do it, I thought…” He abruptly buries his nose into Greg’s hair with a squeeze across his shoulders. “Why should I try so hard to stay away from what I really want? So I didn’t; I came home.”

Greg tightens his hands in the sides of Tom’s jacket, soft and knitted, always slightly too nice for the work they do. “Could you stay home?”

A quiet, familiarly weighted splash echoes from the aft of the boat, then a beat later, a low, sad whine.

“I’m going to have to kill him,” Tom whispers, comically disappointed, his mouth still pressed to Greg’s ear.

Greg huffs wetly, an epiphany edging at his mind; Tom loves his boat, and the job, and Mondale, all of that is true, and just weeks ago he sat them down to carefully put it all in Greg’s hands.

Tom’s hand lifts from between Greg’s shoulder blades and presses into the back of his head, offering a soothing pair of scratches deep into his hair. “If you’re asking, I will.” He releases a lengthy breath. “I will, Greg. We’ll figure out our own mess.”

Greg nods into Tom’s shoulder, then slowly turns his head into his neck. He feels a smile breaking across his face. “Charter?”

“Oh, sure,” Tom says, tone lifting with real humor for the first time all morning, as he shifts his hand again and curves it against Greg’s nape, briefly squeezing to scold him for uttering the most cursed word. “Great plan, jot it right down between gold dredging and hawking painted seashell earrings.”

Greg huffs closes his eyes and briefly considers insisting they should do gold dredging, just because Tom watches too much of that show to actually hate it, then listens to Mondale make a louder, mournful noise for his deliberately lost toy. He lifts his head and looks out toward the deck, then regrets it immediately when Tom seems to take that as a sign to get up. “No, hey?”

Tom squeezes at Greg’s elbow, then he’s completely off the bench. “Alright, time to bite the bullet.”

“But like, we could – ” Greg flushes, a bit, when Tom raises a brow high up his forehead. He drags a lip across his teeth and feels somewhat chafed, as his body cools where Tom had previously been pressed so close. “What like do you need to do?”

“We just established I need to make a fucking awful phone call,” Tom says, pulling the phone out of his pocket to wave with a near miss at the edge of the table. “And then I… I’ll have to get all my crap out of Shiv’s before she tells her brothers and Roman pisses on my clothes, so find some garbage bags, buddy.” He looks down at the phone for a few beats, then takes a deep breath and throws his opposite hand up. “And, obviously, schedule a complete breakdown in between all that somewhere when the dissolution of the trajectory of my life fully hits me.”

Greg tips his head one way, then the other, as he peers up at Tom with a blink. “We can like get a coffee, too.”

“Oh, I’m going to need to,” Tom says, opening the screen on his phone with pale, flat pinch forming at his mouth. “Especially with all this lard and sugar in my stomach.”

Greg sighs hard through his nose and rolls a reluctant smile between his teeth. “Such a dick.”

“I know you love it, but it’s Bisquick, Gregory,” Tom says, leaning back in to the bench and pressing a shock of a kiss to Greg’s forehead, then dropping his own to meet it and breathing hard across the corner of Greg’s mouth, before pushing away from the little table. “And that will never change, no matter how bottomless the pit of affection is that I hold for you.”

#tomgreg #this is a pretty niche au #SE AK Tomgreg #might one day post on Ao3?

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