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wannab3-writer · 1 month

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Country Club Rivalry

PATRICK ZWEIG X CHILDHOOD FRIEND READER (some Art x reader)

NOTES : GOD, how I tried to make this an Art x Reader because I'm an Art GIRLIE, but Pat just had to come out on top for this one, truly…"

WARNINGS — 18 + content mdni, fem!reader, not proofread

wc: 5.3k

description:

When three friends work at the same country club, things are bound to get messy—especially when they have a bet about who can win over the reader first.

The Oakridge Country Club was bustling with its usual summer energy. Guests lounged by the pool, chatting under the striped umbrellas, while golf carts zipped along the winding paths. The sun blazed overhead, casting sharp shadows on the clay tennis courts where Patrick and Art were finishing their morning lessons.

You stood at the server station near the patio, jotting down drink orders on your notepad. It wasn't your first summer at the country club, but you still enjoyed the easy rhythm of the job—the way the breeze rustled through the trees, the laughter of kids playing by the pool, and the familiar faces of the regulars.

Patrick waved at you from across the tennis courts, his hair tousled from teaching. He was grinning like he always did when he'd just finished a good session. Art stood beside him, spinning his racket in his hand, looking relaxed and effortlessly charming.

"Hey, how's your section?" Patrick called, jogging over with Art trailing behind. He was wearing his usual tennis gear, white shirt, and shorts, with a blue visor to keep the sun out of his eyes.

"Pretty good," you replied, glancing at your notepad. "Mrs. Anderson is on her third mimosa, so I'm expecting a big tip."

Art laughed. "Better watch out, she's got a mean backhand when she's tipsy. I saw her smack a golf ball into the pond last week. Her caddie still hasn't recovered."

Patrick chuckled, shaking his head. "Classic Mrs. Anderson. Did you know she was a tennis champion back in the day? She could probably still give us a run for our money."

Art leaned in, lowering his voice. "Speaking of giving people a run for their money, I heard you've been racking up the tips lately. What's your secret?"

You shrugged with a playful smile. "Just being nice to people, Art. You should try it sometime."

Patrick laughed and nudged Art's shoulder. "Yeah, Art, maybe if you focused less on flirting with every guest and more on your job, you'd make some tips, too."

Art feigned shock. "Me? Flirting? I don't know what you're talking about." He turned to you with a charming grin. "Do you think I'm a flirt?"

You raised an eyebrow. "A little, but that's your thing, right? I mean, it's not like you're betting on who can get the most milfs phone numbers or anything." Clearly sarcastic.

Patrick shot Art a look, then quickly turned to you with a smile. "Yeah, nothing like that. We just... like to keep things interesting."

Art nodded, but you noticed a brief flicker of guilt in his eyes. It was subtle, but it made you wonder if there was more to their competition than met the eye.

"Well, whatever it is, just don't bring any drama into my section, okay?" you said, playfully tapping your notepad against Art's chest. "I've got enough to deal with without you two causing trouble."

Patrick raised his hands in mock surrender. "No drama, I promise. We'll be on our best behavior."

Art winked. "Scout's honor."

You rolled your eyes but couldn't help but smile. Despite the teasing and the occasional competitive streak, you knew they meant well. It was just another summer at the country club, where the days were long, the sun was hot, and anything could happen.

Anything.

---

The Club had settled into its evening rhythm by the time you reached the bar. Fairy lights twinkled overhead, casting soft glimmers on the stone patio. The air was warm and fragrant with the scent of blooming jasmine and freshly cut grass. A live band played classic rock covers, the gentle strum of guitars mingling with the murmur of patrons relaxing after a day of golf and tennis.

Patrick was at a corner table, nursing a glass of whiskey on the rocks. He looked up from his phone and waved you over, a broad smile lighting up his face. He'd changed out of his tennis instructor uniform into a casual blue polo and jeans, his hair still damp from a quick shower.

"Hey, there you are!" he said, using his foot to pull out a chair for you. "I was starting to think you forgot about me."

You shook your head with a grin. "Please, I could hear your bad jokes all the way from the kitchen. Had to come and see what was so funny."

Patrick laughed, setting his phone aside. "You know I'm hilarious. You just pretend not to appreciate my sense of humor."

You took a seat and glanced around. The bar was lively but not overcrowded. A group of older couples was playing cards at a nearby table, and a few teenagers from the tennis program were playing darts in the corner. It felt like the perfect end to a busy day.

"So, what are we drinking tonight?" Patrick asked, gesturing to the menu. "I've got whiskey, but I hear the margaritas are pretty good."

You considered for a moment. "Let's go with the margaritas. I need something fruity after today."

Patrick flagged down the bartender, who quickly mixed up a pitcher of margaritas with a generous splash of tequila. He poured you a glass and handed it over with a mock bow. "Your drink, my liege. May it bring you all the fruitiness you desire."

You raised your glass with a chuckle. "Thank you, William,” you turn towards the brunet “To Patrick, who somehow managed not to break any tennis rackets today. It's a new record!"

Patrick clinked his whiskey against your glass. "And to you, for not spilling any drinks on Mrs. Anderson. She's still mad about last summer's 'mimosa incident.'"

You rolled your eyes, remembering the time you accidentally spilled a tray of drinks on Mrs. Anderson's white dress during a particularly hectic brunch. "Don't remind me. I had to run for cover like I was in a war zone. I thought she’d have my head.”

Patrick laughed, the sound warm and familiar. "You should've seen her face. It was like you'd ruined her entire day. But hey, at least you got to keep your job."

As the two of you shared stories and relived old memories, the sun dipped below the horizon, casting a warm orange glow across the patio. The band transitioned to a slower song, adding a mellow vibe to the evening.

Art arrived a little later, his tennis gear replaced by a button-down snap back and jeans. He had a confident stride and a smile that seemed to draw attention wherever he went. He slid into the seat next to you, his presence bringing a shift in the energy at the table.

"What's up, party people?" he said, his voice smooth and inviting. "I hope you saved some margaritas for me."

Patrick handed him a glass. "Of course, wouldn't want our little Arty to feel left out.” He added leaning into Art smirking. “What took you so long anyways, Shelly needed some one-on-one time to work on her underhand? Or what. ”

You smirked. "You really think He’s that charming, huh?” she turns towards Art looking into his eyes “What’s your secret hmm? Is it the cologne?"

Art leaned in with a grin. "It's all about confidence. And maybe a little bit of cologne. But mostly confidence."

Patrick rolled his eyes. "Right, because confidence is what you exude. You should've seen Art on the tennis court today. He was so confident he almost hit a kid with a tennis ball."

Art raised an eyebrow. "Almost. That's the key word. No harm, no foul."

The banter continued, the three of you falling into an easy rhythm. Art's charm contrasted with Patrick's laid-back, cheeky style, and you found yourself enjoying the playful back-and-forth.

As the evening progressed, you noticed Patrick watching Art with a hint of unease. It was subtle, like a flicker in his eyes whenever Art made you laugh a little too hard or leaned in a little too close.

---

"All right, we're here. Try not to break anything, okay? Last time you were here, my mom couldn't find her favorite vase for a week."

Art smirked, stepping inside. "That wasn't my fault! How was I supposed to know it was on top of the fridge? Who puts a vase on the fridge, anyway?"

Art dropped his bag in his Patrick’s room and looked around. The place had an eclectic charm—walls lined with tennis trophies, faded concert posters, and family photos. A stack of video games sat beside the TV.

Patrick led the way into the kitchen, grabbing a couple of beers from the fridge. He tossed one to Art, who caught it with ease. "So, what are you in the mood for? I was thinking pizza, but we can order something else if you're not into it."

Art popped open the bear and took a sip. "Pizza sounds good. Just no anchovies, okay? That stuff is nasty."

Patrick laughed, opening his own soda. "You're missing out, man. Anchovies are a delicacy." He grabbed the phone and dialed the pizza place, ordering a large with pepperoni and sausage. "There, something a bit more your speed. Happy now?"

Art nodded, leaning against the counter. "Yeah, that'll work. So, you ready for tomorrow? Two-on-two is serious business. We can't afford to slack off."

Patrick waved a hand dismissively. "Please, I'm always ready. Besides, we've got the advantage. I mean, have you seen the other teams? Half of them can't even hit a backhand."

Art chuckled. "You're so modest, Patrick. What would you do without me to keep you humble?"

Patrick shrugged with a grin. "Probably win more matches.”

Art threw a punch at Patrick's shoulder, and Patrick pretended to wince. They both laughed, the kind of easy camaraderie that came from years of friendship and shared jokes. But there was also a subtle tension in the air, like they were both aware of the unspoken rivalry that had been growing between them.

"So," Patrick said, leaning back against the kitchen island, biting his lip "you and […] seemed pretty chummy tonight. What's the story there? You trying to make a move, or what?" The familiar smirk making its way to his face.

Art raised an eyebrow, his expression guarded. "We're just talking. Nothing wrong with getting to know someone, right?" He finished wetting his lips.

Patrick smirked. "Sure, nothing wrong with that.” He shrugged. “But you're not just getting to know her. You're flirting, and we both know it." He took a couple steps forward “Basically eye fucking her, to be honest” He only smiled.

Art shrugged, trying to play it cool. "Oh, come on Pat, maybe, She's just fun to be around, you know. No need to be gross." Art gave him a wry smile. "You know me. I just go with the flow. If she likes hanging out with me, who am I to complain?"

Patrick leaned in, lowering his voice. "Or maybe, you think she's interested in you. Is that what this is about? You think you've got a shot?" His eyes scanning arts face.

Art met his gaze, his expression calm but with a hint of challenge. "I don't know, man. Maybe I do. What does it matter to you huh? You think you've got the inside track because you've known her longer?"

Patrick grinned, his eyes glinting with mischief. "I mean, it doesn't hurt. We've got a lot of history. I'm charming, good-looking, and I've got the best jokes. What's not to like?" he goes back to lean on the counter. “Besides, I’ve seen the real her, all of it, kinda gives me a little advantage don’t you think.”

Art halts, stops chewing his gum, straitening himself up. “What’s that supposed to mean Patrick.”

“Exactly what it you think.” He kissed his teeth, kicking off the counter and going back to looking inside the fridge.

Art chuckled, but there was a hint of envy in his laugh. "Well, if you're so confident, maybe we should make it interesting. How about a little bet? See who can win her over first?"

Patrick waved his hand dismissively. "Little Arty wants a bet he’ll lose?” He chuckles. “No games. Just a simple bet. May the best man win."

Art held out his hand, and Patrick shook it with a grin. The bet was sealed, but there was an underlying seriousness in Art's eyes. As they waited for the pizza, the two friends continued their banter, but there was a new edge to their jokes—like the stakes had just gotten a little higher.

---

A week after their doubles match, the annual Oakridge Country Club gala was in full swing, the ballroom bustling with elegantly dressed members and guests. The chandeliers sparkled overhead, casting warm light onto the neatly set tables, while smooth jazz played in the background. You stood near the entrance, surveying the glamorous crowd, your fitted dress drawing approving glances from a few partygoers.

Art was the first to spot you, leaning against a wall with a cocktail in hand, chatting up club regulars. He was dressed in a sharp suit, but he carried himself with a boyish charm. His grin was wide as he motioned for you to come over, his eyes moving from your head to your heels in a way that felt like a visual undressing.

"Wow," he said, raising his glass, "you clean up nice. I was expecting you to show up in your waiter outfit or something. I'm glad you went with the dress, though. Much more... appealing."

You gave him a playful smirk, stepping up to the bar. "Thanks, Art. I do my best to impress." You glanced at his drink. "Are you trying to get a head start on the partying? We haven't even hit the dance floor yet."

He took a sip, his gaze lingering on your lips. "Hey, I like to loosen up a bit before the main event. Keeps things interesting. Besides, you can't blame a guy for wanting to enjoy himself, right? You gonna help me enjoy my night and keep me company?"

Patrick, who was laughing with a group nearby, walked over just in time to catch Art’s comment. He gave Art a look of mild disapproval, then turned to you with a sly smile.

"Don't listen to him. He's just trying to get you alone so he can talk your ear off about his latest tennis game.” Patrick shrugged, looking at Art with a smirk. "So boring. I was thinking we could have some real fun; you know? A little adventure never hurt anyone." He leaned closer, his voice barely audible over the music. "Besides, I know all the best spots around here. Private spots. You'd love it."

Art shook his head, clearly not amused. "Come on, Patrick. We're here to enjoy the gala, not to sneak off like we're in high school. Why don't we all just enjoy the party and see what happens?"

Patrick grinned, his eyes gleaming with mischief. "Sure, sure. Whatever you say, Art. But if you change your mind,” he turn towards her. “You know where to find me. I'll be the one having a good time." He turned to you with a suggestive wink while walking backwards to god knows where.

Art rolled his eyes, then smiled at you in a more relaxed manner. "Sorry about him, he’s not really allowed to leave the house. He's a good guy, but he doesn't always know when to tone it down. If you want, I can keep him from getting too out of hand. I wouldn't want him to scare you off." He says mocking Patrick as he walked away.

You laugh full heartedly glancing at Patrick, who was already chatting with a couple of other guests, his flirtatious demeanor on full display. " Thanks so for watching out for me. It can get a little overwhelming with him around." You continued smiling.

Art nodded smiling, his expression kind. " I was thinking we could get some food, maybe hit the dance floor. What do you think?" Art suggested, leading the way. "I'm sure Patrick will join us once he's done charming the entire room."

Patrick shot Art a mischievous look but didn't follow immediately. You could tell he was reveling in the attention, his flirtatious behavior attracting more than a few curious glances from the other guests.

The band switched to a slow, romantic melody, and Art extended his hand to you with a charming smile. "Care to dance?" he asked, his eyes warm and inviting.

You nodded, accepting his offer, and he led you onto the dance floor. His touch was gentle yet confident as he pulled you close, swaying to the music with practiced ease.

As you danced with Art, you felt yourself relaxing into his embrace. His presence was comforting, his movements smooth and graceful. You couldn't help but smile as you looked up at him, feeling a somewhat new sense of closeness.

Halfway through the song, Patrick appeared out of nowhere, a cocky grin on his lips. "Mind if I cut in?" he asked, his eyes twinkling with excitement.

Before you could respond, he swept you away from Art, taking you into his arms with a boldness that made you some type of way. His touch was hot, his body pressed close to yours as he guided you across the dance floor.

"So, you replacing your best friend with that ginger?" he asked, his voice low and suggestive. "Boring you to tears yet?" He raised a brow.

You laughed, unable to resist his playfulness. "Hmm maybe. He's actually a great dancer, unlike some people."

Patrick smirked, pulling you even closer. "Yeah, but can he do this?" With a sudden flourish, he spun you around, his movements fluid and confident. "Do I need to remind you why I’m better.” He paused.

“How, I’m better.”

You chuckled rolling your eyes, enjoying the thrill of dancing with Patrick. He was unpredictable, to say the least, his smile contagious. But as much as you were drawn to him, you couldn't help but feel a pang of guilt for leaving Art behind.

Patrick reached into his breast pocket, pulling out a pack of cigarettes and offering you one with a sly grin. "Care for a smoke?" he asked, lighting his own with practiced ease.

You just shook your head with hesitant smile. “I really shouldn’t, Pat. You know I’m trying to quit.”

He looks you up and down with a seductive look.

“We’ve all got our guilty pleasures, darling.”

As the song came to an end, Patrick took your hand, leading you away from the dance floor and out onto the club’s private beach. The cool breeze off the ocean felt refreshing against your skin, and the sound of the waves crashing against the shore was soothing.

You hesitated for a moment, then accepted the offer, taking the cigarette from him and inhaling deeply. The nicotine hit you like a rush of adrenaline, and you couldn't help but feel a sense of exhilaration as you exhaled a cloud of smoke into the night air.

"So, what do you think?" Patrick asked, his eyes searching yours. "Having fun yet?"

You nodded, feeling a sense of liberation wash over you. "Yeah, I am. Thanks for... you know, stealing me away." You added motioning to the cigarette.

Patrick grinned, leaning in closer. "Anytime, sweetheart. Just say the word, and I'll whisk you away to paradise."

You laughed, feeling a flutter of excitement in your chest.

Patrick decided to sit down in the sand, his cigarette glowing in the darkness as he exhaled a cloud of smoke. You sat beside him, savoring the familiar scent of his cologne.

He took a long drag from his cigarette, then shot you a sidelong glance. "You know, I was just thinking about that first summer at tennis camp," he said, his voice low and playful. "I mean, it's where it all started, right? Just a couple of kids swinging rackets and making trouble."

You smiled at the memory. "Yeah, it's crazy to think about how much has changed since then. Who would've thought you'd actually make it big in tennis? Meanwhile, I could barely keep the ball on the court."

Patrick laughed, a warm, hearty sound that cut through the night air. "Yeah, well, I guess I had a little more motivation to stick with it. You were off climbing trees and playing in the woods, and I was stuck with a bunch of coaches yelling at me to hit harder."

"Hey," you replied with a smirk, "it's not like I was useless. I remember showing you all the best spots to hide when you wanted to skip practice."

Patrick nodded, his eyes sparkling with mischief. "Oh, I remember. You were the queen of avoiding responsibility. If it weren't for you, I'd probably have become a strait-laced tennis prodigy. Instead, you dragged me into the wilderness to make forts and find weird bugs."

You both chuckled, reminiscing about those lazy summer days when tennis camp was more of a suggestion than a requirement. But then Patrick's expression turned sly, and he leaned in a bit closer.

"Speaking of weird things from our past," he said, his voice dripping with playful insinuation, he nudged you. "You remember that bet we made? The one about if we were both green by the time you turned 16, we'd, you know, be each other's first?"

Your face grew warm at the memory. It had been a silly bet between two best friends who figured they'd never find anyone else in their small circle. But the fact that you followed through with it made it more than just a joke.

"Yeah," you replied, pretending to be nonchalant, "I remember, Pat we’re not that old. It was a dumb bet, but I guess we kept our word, didn't we?"

Patrick nodded, a cheeky grin spreading across his lips. "We sure did. And you know, I wasn't expecting it to be so... memorable. I thought we'd just laugh about it later, but it was kind of nice. You know, like a rite of passage or something."

You laughed, trying to deflect his innuendo. "A rite of passage? Yeah, right. More like a hilarious disaster. I mean, you had no idea what you were doing."

Patrick raised an eyebrow, his grin growing wider. "Oh, come on, it wasn't that bad. Besides, you were just as clueless. At least I managed to keep my cool, mostly."

You rolled your eyes, but you couldn't help but smile at his cockiness. "Mostly, huh? If I remember correctly, you tripped over your own shoes and nearly fell face first."

Patrick groaned, but his eyes sparkled with amusement. "Okay, maybe I was a little clumsy. But you have to admit, it was an experience neither of us will forget. And hey, we did it together. That's gotta count for something, right?"

You nodded, feeling a mix of nostalgia and fondness. "Yeah, it does. I'm just glad it didn't ruin our friendship. It could've been awkward, but it wasn't."

Patrick leaned in, his gaze locking with yours. "Of course it wasn't. We were best friends. We still are. And besides, even if it was a bit awkward, it was worth it. You know, just to say we did it." He flicked the ash from his cigarette, then added with a wink, "And hey, I was your first. That's something not everyone can say."

You laughed, pushing him lightly on the shoulder. "Yeah, well, don't let it go to your head. You still have a long way to go before you become a pro. But if you need any advice on how to avoid tripping over your own shoes, I'm here for you."

Patrick grinned, taking a final drag from his cigarette before tossing it into the sand. " If you ever want to make another bet, I'm always up for it. " He Looks at you seductively, his eyes full of mischief. " I think if you were to give me another chance, you’d find that I’ve improved quite a bit. " He gives you his signature smirk.

You scan his face trying to find sincerity in his words, not sure how you’d feel if he was. “What are you trying to get at Patrick?”

“Nothing at all.” He raised his hands in a surrender, cigarette in mouth looking away. “I’m just saying, I feel like I deserve a redemption arc,” He takes his cigarette putting out in the sand. “I wasn’t the most…giving you can say.” He looks back at you, under his brows. “And I just want to show you that I’ve changed, for the better.” He offers a smile.

You just nod your head in fake agreement. “Uhh, how much have you had to drink tonight pat? Is it time to call you a cab?” You questioned with a week smile.

“Oh, shut up, I’m dead sober.” He said leaning in. He reached out, brushing a strand of hair behind your ear. "Besides, what's life without a little adventure?"

You felt a shiver run down your spine at his touch. It was a simple gesture, but there was something in the way he did it that made your heart skip a beat. Patrick had always had a way of pushing boundaries, but tonight, he seemed more deliberate, more intent.

"Adventure?" you replied, your voice slightly breathless. "Are you planning something?"

Patrick's smile grew, his eyes locking with yours. "Maybe. But you know me—always full of surprises." He stepped closer, his hand resting lightly on your waist. "But I promise, it'll be a good one."

You felt a rush of heat at his touch, the closeness between you stirring something deep within. Patrick leaned in, his lips just inches from yours. "So, do you trust me?" he whispered, his breath warm against your skin.

You hesitated for a moment, then nodded. "No I don’t, Patrick, because I know you. Why? What are you up to?"

Patrick's gaze grew more intense, his eyes fixed on yours. "I just wanted to try something." He leaned in closer, his lips brushing against yours in a soft, tentative kiss. It was gentle at first, a teasing touch that sent a jolt of electricity through you.

The kiss deepened, the heat between you building as Patrick pulled you closer. His hand slid around your waist, holding you firmly as he kissed you with a newfound intensity. The sound of the waves seemed to fade away, replaced by the pounding of your own heart.

Patrick's other hand cupped your cheek, his touch gentle yet assertive. His kiss was slow and deliberate, each movement a carefully orchestrated dance that left you breathless. As his lips moved against yours, you felt a rush of desire, a connection that seemed to transcend words.

When he finally pulled back, his eyes were dark with emotion. He looked at you, his lips slightly parted, as if he was trying to read your thoughts.

“Show me.” You said looking him deep in his eyes barley a millimetre away from his lips.

“Show you what darling?” He question with a smile gracing his lips

“How you’re better than Art.”

That’s not what he was expecting at all. Maybe a ‘show me how you’ve improved.’ But certainly not you using his own words against him, That’s for sure.

That didn’t stop Patrick's smile from getting bigger though, as he moved his hands all over you, bringing you in for another wet and sloppy kiss. He slowly laid you down into the sand using his teeth to slide up your dress around your waits.

He slowly kissed your stomach stopping at the hem of your thong. Moving it to the side, he slides one of his digits up and down your slit.

Looking up to you with a sly smile, he lets out a contented sigh. " Give me some of this sweet pussy." With the excited flattening of his tongue, he dives right in, right there, on the beach. Before you even having a chance to fully lay down, Patrick slides his arms beneath your legs and pulls you in.

As you begin to grind into him and yearn for more of his tongue, you play with one of your tits. Suddenly too shy to look him in the eye, you reach down and tug on his hair. You can feel your cheeks getting hot with shame at how quickly you folded for him. “Tongue fuck me, please, Pat. When did you get so good at this?”

he consumes you. his hands are playing with your ass and thighs. He kneads the skin and spreading you out. He trust his tongue into your entrance and explores your pussy. Less than a minute later, your walls start to twitch around his tongue. He takes in all your cum. When he looks up back at you, he just gives you a sly smirk.

Patrick rolled onto his back beside you, his chest heaving slightly from the intensity of what just happened. You try to get your breathing back to normal when suddenly you let out a random laugh.

Patrick turned his head, raising an eyebrow. "What's so funny?" he asked, his voice low and smooth, but his face still wet from your essence.

You shrugged, trying to stifle your laughter. "I don't know, it just hit me—how did we end up here? One minute we're at the gala, and the next we're... well, doing this." You gestured at the beach, and your unruly appearance.

Patrick grinned, rolling onto his side to face you. "Maybe it's fate," he said, his voice soft and playful. "Or maybe it's just because I couldn't resist pulling you away for a little... private time." He winked, his cheeky grin only growing wider.

You rolled your eyes, but there was no denying the warmth that spread through your chest. "Or maybe it’s because you and Art have a weird little bet going on, and for some reason, I’m in the middle of it." you replied, a teasing edge to your tone.

Patrick frowns sitting up to look at you properly. " You know about that?" He’s confused.

You let out a chuckle. "Patrick, I’m not a dumbass, like i said, i know you. And i know Art, you guys have been total try hards for the last week, sure, you’re just a whore and will flirt with anything that has a vagina, but even Art was over doing it." You swatted at his shoulder, trying to hide your smile. "Patrick, seriously," you said, though your tone lacked any real reprimand. "You always push your luck, you know that? You leaned in a little closer, your eyes locking with his.

Patrick's grin softened, his eyes reflecting the moonlight. "Yeah, well, sometimes you need a little excitement," he replied, his hand resting on your hip, a gentle reminder of his presence. "And you can't deny that you like it when I take charge. Right?" His fingers traced a light pattern along your hipbone, his touch both playful and suggestive.

You sighed, the subtle tension between you becoming more palpable. "Maybe," you replied, your voice low and teasing. "But don't think I'll always let you get away with it. Sometimes, you need to earn it."

Patrick laughed, a deep, rich sound that seemed to carry on the breeze. "Oh, don't worry," he said, his eyes narrowing with that familiar mischievous look. "I'll work for it. You just let me know when you want me to turn on the charm." He leaned in again, his lips hovering near yours, the warmth of his breath a tantalizing invitation.

You closed the gap, letting his lips meet yours in a brief, soft kiss. It was playful but laced with an underlying intensity, a promise of more to come. When you pulled back, you saw the surprise in his eyes, followed by that trademark grin.

"Consider it a preview," you said, giving him a gentle nudge. "But don't get too cocky, or I’ll make sure you lose this bet."

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

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kajibunny · 11 days

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‧₊˚✩ ₊˚🎧⊹ rainy day romance with wind breaker boys (bofurin + shishitoren x reader) ♡˚ ༘🌧️ ೀ⋆｡˚

✿ featuring: haruka sakura, hayato suo, ren kaji, mitsuki kiryu, hajime umemiya, toma hiragi, choji tomiyama, jo togame ✿ warnings: slightly suggestive for ume and togame only hahaha i can't not ✿ a/n: whenever i think of rain and wb, i remember togame and choji's "it's raining but the sun is out? TT^TT" scene lol ✿ wc: 827

➜ rushes to wherever you are just to make sure you don't get wet and brings you an umbrella or buys you one from the convenience store (a true gentleman).

ʚɞ umemiya - will never, ever let his baby get wet from the rain (only he can get you wet) will go to the ends of the earth and no typhoon warning can stop him from personally delivering an umbrella to you and making sure you get home safely. umemiya is always willing to go the extra mile for you, and will be so happy if you reward him with lots of kisses and cuddles once you're indoors, to show him how much you appreciate him.

ʚɞ hiragi - is very responsible, so of course he doesn't forget to bring an extra umbrella for you since he thought it might rain that day. (instantly regrets it and wishes he only brought one when you mentioned how cute it would be if you shared one so that you can walk closely with each other like a couple, is now stressed about it)

➜ you two share his umbrella like a cliché romantic trope.

ʚɞ kiryu - is real smooth about it too, holding your hand to guide you away from puddles and leaning the umbrella towards your side, not caring if one side of his shoulder gets wet. is so sweet and caring, takes you to a café while waiting for the rain to stop and treats you to a nice, warm drink perfect for the gloomy weather.

ʚɞ suo - everything about this moment with suo is way too perfect, walking under his umbrella together, his hand resting at the small of your back to walk with you at the same pace. when you jumped at a loud thunderclap, he calmly pulls you closer and reassures you that it's okay and that he's here and jokingly asks if you want to hop into his arms so he can carry you like a princess. is like a shoujo male lead at this point, you swore you could see the bubbles and sparkles surrounding his image.

➜ forgets to bring his umbrella and gets under yours instead.

ʚɞ sakura - you saw him walking around all drenched in the rain, so you approached him and told him to get under your umbrella and now he's a blushing mess from being hyperaware of how close in proximity you are to him that he can catch a faint whiff of your scent and how your shoulder lightly touches his while walking. unbeknownst to sakura, you're also quite flustered trying not to look at the way his white shirt clings to his abs all damp and visible, and how he's so close you could almost kiss him.

ʚɞ kaji - is the one who asks (more like demands) you to share your umbrella with him because he forgot his (on purpose) and of course doesn't want his precious headphones to get wet. is honestly just using this as an excuse because he wants to walk home together and spend time with you, and at least offers to hold the umbrella for you. you walk while clinging on to his arm, and he gave you his hoodie for you to wear because you said you felt cold. wanted to be taken care of by you but ends up being the one taking care of you.

ʚɞ choji - convinces you to drop the umbrella halfway since you're both getting soaked anyway, and the two of you just run, play and kiss in the rain like protagonists of a rom com. afterwards asks you if you're cold and places his shishitoren jacket on your shoulders, hugging you tightly to share his warmth.

➜ does not have an umbrella, but protects you from the rain with his jacket.

ʚɞ togame - if he had an umbrella, he would have given it to you then ran off all cool like the slick mf that he is but he did not have one that day, so he holds his shishitoren jacket over your head and you two still ended up soaking wet under it so he brought you to the ori so you both can dry off. (but let's be real, the moment you two stepped into the ori, the two of you alone together, rain pattering on the windows, heavy panting from running and clothes all soaked and see-through from the rain, needless to say your passion for each other was stronger than any typhoon and the sensual mood left nothing dry that day. it seems you two caused a massive cyclone at the ori)

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comfortless · 4 months

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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moonstruckme · 4 months

Note

Steve x black cat! reader pls. I feel this paring is always necessary 😌

Thanks for requesting!

Steve Harrington x black cat!reader ♡ 625 words

You glower at your boyfriend through the dark lens of your sunglasses. “Don’t come near me with that.”

Steve smiles cajolingly, approaching with the sunscreen nonetheless. “C’mon, babe, you didn’t come out here just to sit under this umbrella all day.”

“You know I did.” You dart your stare pointedly to where the pale rocks are growing little puddles of lake water underneath his feet. “If you come over here and drip on my book—”

“Put the book away,” he coaxes. And he’s convincing, all shiny skin and even shinier smile and his pretty hair stuck damply to his forehead and the back of his neck. One tiny strand curls inward over the curve of his cheekbone, and you want terribly to slick it back in with the others but any affectionate gesture right now would feel too close to giving in. “Lemme put some sunscreen on you so you can come swim with the rest of us.”

“I’m fine here.”

“It’s really nice out there.” Steve sits down next to you like a mirror image, his hands by your feet and his feet next to your butt. “The lake’s not too cold or anything, you might like it.”

You suck your teeth. “I’m just trying to enjoy my book, Steve.”

He angles his head. “What, you don’t want to spend time with me?”

You angle your head right back, deadpan. “Don’t.”

“You know, Max really loves you,” he says, squirting a dollop of sunscreen into his hand and starting to smooth it up your calf. You wrinkle your nose at the smell. “She thinks you’re the coolest. Beats me why, but it’d probably make her week if you went out there.” You’re quiet, and he goes on, encouraged. He works the sunscreen over your knee, hands chaste and purposeful as they run the length of your thigh. “Plus, you know, you can read your book anytime, but these warm days are only gonna last so long before it’s freezing and snowy outside again.”

“I like when it’s freezing and snowy,” you say, setting your book down on top of your bag before one of you gets sunscreen on it.

“I know, but you won’t be getting the gun show when I’m all hidden under ten layers, y’know?”

Steve raises his eyebrows at you, and you look away from him, biting down on your smile. You feel more than see your boyfriend’s answering grin, spreading like a blight over his pretty face. He starts on your other leg.

“And if you come hang out, I’ve got an ice cream sandwich in the cooler with your name on it.” He brushes his thumb over the side of your knee sweetly. “Been saving it for you.”

You soften. A bit. “You could bring it to me here,” you point out.

Steve shakes his head, frowning as if he really doesn’t know who’s making these rules and wishes he could change them for you. “Can’t, sorry. Frozen treats are only for those of us out there braving the sun.”

You cross your arms. “You make it sound so pleasant.”

He takes one of your arms in his hands, disentangling your defensive stance to continue slathering you in sunscreen. “It’s really not bad,” he says. “Between the ice cream and the cool water, you can pretend it’s winter if you want.”

“Steve!” You both look out towards the lake, and Robin is waving him over. “Stop flirting with your girlfriend and come back here. We need more people to play chicken!”

Steve gives you a pleading look.

“I’m not getting wet,” you tell him firmly.

He grins and takes your hand, lotion-slicked palm sliding against your own as he pulls you up. “You won’t on my team, don’t worry.”

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jjkamochoso · 26 days

Note

so like yesterday I went to a strawberry farm were you like pick strawberries and I was thinking how would the jjk men act or like what would they do. sorry if it's a dumb question😭

There is absolutely nothing dumb about this, it’s freaking adorable😭😭 thank you for entrusting me with this!! I hope you had lots of fun picking strawberries 🍓 and I hope you enjoy reading about picking strawberries with these silly lil men☺️🫶

Picking Strawberries with the JJK Men

Fluff

JJK men x gn!reader

Warnings: small mentions of bugs/insects

Yuji:

You and Yuji walked along the path, admiring the glow of the red berries surrounding you.

“This one looks really good,” Yuji said, bending over to pick a particularly plump strawberry. He grasped the stem and held it to your lips.

“Try it!” he encouraged, and you happily obliged, taking a big bite.

“That’s seriously delicious,” you complimented after eating the fruit. "Now let me find one for you."

You walked hand in hand with Yuji, scouring the ground until the perfect berry caught your attention. You held the stem while offering the rest to him, just like he had done for you. Yuji, being the menace he is, ate the whole thing in one swift bite.

“Is it yummy?" you asked, anxiously awaiting his reaction.

"It's delicious!" Yuji exclaimed, mouth full of half chewed strawberry. You wanted to be grossed out but the delight in his eyes was too adorable for you to think about how nasty it was that he was talking with his mouth full. He swallowed the fruit with a gulp, then wrapped you in a big bear hug.

"The strawberry was sweet, but you're sweeter."

Megumi:

“I really should’ve thought this through.”

You realized you ran out of hands when you went to pick a strawberry but couldn’t due to your grasp being occupied by both a basket and an umbrella to keep the sun from burning you. You switched gears, putting the basket on the ground and pulling strawberries from your now free hand, but the umbrella kept falling every which way. Megumi, meanwhile, was watching all of this unfold and trying his hardest not to laugh at your predicament.

“Here, let me help you,” he eventually said after watching you struggle for a bit. He was waiting to see if you were going to come up with a solution yourself but it certainly wasn’t happening any time soon and he didn’t want you to get too frustrated (no matter how cute he thinks you look when you’re grumpy). Megumi took the umbrella from your flailing hands and immediately you no longer felt like throwing it in a fit of rage.

“You’re a real lifesaver,” you said, getting an eye roll as a reply.

“That was too painful to keep watching without doing something.”

You narrowed your eyes and stuck your tongue out at him, going back to your berry picking. It was much easier now that Megumi strolled alongside you, one hand in his pocket and the other tightly wrapped around your umbrella, basking you in cool shade. He wouldn’t say it out loud but he was beyond relieved he could assist you, no matter how insignificant of a task.

Yuta:

You and Yuta happily strode along the strawberry bushes, hand in hand, and picking the ripest fruit to bring back home. Being ever the gentleman, Yuta held the heavy basket in his free hand while you were in charge of selecting the berries.

“This is, by far, the cutest date I’ve ever been on,” you confessed, a strawberry dangling by its stem in your grasp.

“O-oh, really? I’m really glad you’re having fun,” Yuta replied, a blush blooming on his face.

“Whats wrong, Yuta? You’re almost as red as this berry,” you teased with a giggle, taking a big bite of the fruit you picked a few seconds ago. That made the poor boy blush even more as he imagined what those plump lips of yours would feel like on his own rather than the strawberry.

“Yuta? Are you in there?” you asked. You had been waving your hand in front of his face but he was too busy staring at you to respond until now as he stuttered out an apology.

“It’s all good,” you told him, “you’re cute when you’re spaced out. My offer still stands if you want a bite of this strawberry though since you were practically gawking at it.”

“Yes! Right. The strawberry,” he stammered, “that’s exactly what I was looking at. You’re so right, it looks really good. Thank you.”

You held out the strawberry in question to feed it to him and Yuta felt his heart leap out of his chest—how did he get so lucky to date someone as sweet as you?

Inumaki:

“Strawberry.”

Your jaw dropped at the surprise introduction of a new word into your boyfriend’s vocabulary. You two decided to go on a date at a strawberry farm but the last thing you expected from today was to see Toge enthusiastically pointing his finger back and forth from you to the berries while repeating the word like some sort of incantation.

“I have a feeling you’re making a really good connection between these things but I don’t understand it,” you said tentatively, taking note of the giddiness that shone in Toge’s purple eyes. He quickly pulled out his phone, furiously typing out something in his notes app. When he showed you his screen, you felt like drowning the earth beneath your feet in tears:

Strawberry!! I can say it without hurting you!! That’s gonna be reserved for you only :)

“Toge,” you half whispered, your voice failing you from the love that was overwhelming you, “that means the world to me. Thank you.”

“Salmon,” he said, meaning “you’re welcome.” He then pulled you into a tight hug to show you how much he cared when words failed him. When you pulled apart, he showed you his phone screen one more time:

Also you’re both very sweet <3

Noritoshi:

It was nice to get away from all the hustle and bustle of your daily duties with your boyfriend Noritoshi. You knew he put a lot of pressure on himself 24/7 to be perfect in all facets of his life so you figured getting away to somewhere quiet and calm would do wonders for his mental health. Thankfully, you were correct. You’d never seen Noritoshi as relaxed as he was amongst the strawberries, softly smiling as he watched a bug climb along a vine. He leaned in closer to get a better view of nature at its core, deeply appreciating the simplicity of the outdoors.

“Y/n, look. It’s a ladybug,” he whispered, not wanting to disturb it. You scooted in closer as well to catch a glimpse but were quickly taken aback when the insect flew off the vine and landed on Noritoshi’s nose. He was extremely calm about the whole ordeal and you were delighted to see such an adorable scene unfold in front of you. His gray eyes were slightly crossed as he watched the ladybug in amusement, its speckled body tickling his smooth skin. As it started heading up his nose and toward his eyes, he put his finger out to block it, guiding the plump bug onto his outstretched digit.

“You know that means you’re going to be blessed with an abundance of luck, right?” you asked, heart instantly melting at the gentle gaze he held you under.

“With you in my life, I already knew I was the luckiest man alive.”

Todo:

You never knew what to expect from your boyfriend on a day to day basis so when he started spouting strawberry facts at you while you explored the grounds of the farm, you couldn’t say you were surprised.

“…strawberries today are a result of the cross between F. chiloensis and F. virginiana. Did you know strawberries are a type of rose? And they have more vitamin C than oranges.”

You listened intently to Aoi’s rambling, his arm slung easily over your shoulder in a display of his affection toward you. You were looking at him like he was speaking about the most important topic in the world and you were so proud of the fact that he was subverting expectations, being extremely strong and smart.

“Wow, Aoi, you’re so knowledgeable!” you exclaimed, “how did you learn all this?”

He just shrugged, shooting you a wink. “I’ll tell you if you let me walk you back home after this.”

You playfully nudged him on the shoulder. “We’re going back to the same place, dummy.”

A look of realization dawned on his face, replacing a concerning amount of shock. “You’re right, we are! I forgot!”

You grimaced, trying not to outwardly groan for the sake of being a patient partner.

“Don’t worry about it, handsome. Let’s just enjoy some strawberries, yeah?”

Aoi let out a triumphant laugh after kissing your cheek. “Sounds good to me!”

Ino:

Going to the strawberry farm with Ino was nothing short of a good time. You spent hours collecting only the finest berries, carting around heavy baskets and dreaming up all types of desserts you’d be making with your haul. You also spent a good chunk of that time eating the berries right off the vine and making each other share in the disgust of any surprisingly unripe berries you pulled.

“Babe! Here, this one’s straight up disgusting,” Ino said, thrusting a strawberry with a big bite chunk out of it your way. You took a bite and immediately made a face.

“Ew! That one was nasty! And to think it looked so good, too,” you whined, glaring at the rest of the deceptive glowing red skin.

“You wanna wash it down with a milkshake? They’re selling them at the front.”

“Please,” you said, nodding eagerly. Ino lazily threw his arm over your shoulder and you scooted in closer to your boyfriend as he guided you to a much needed sweet drink.

Gojo:

Satoru was watching you sit next to a strawberry plant with inquisitive eyes, his signature blindfold gone and in its place were sunglasses that reminded you of his yesteryears.

“I still don’t get why we have to pick the strawberries ourselves when we could’ve just gone to the store,” he questioned, bottom lip jutted in a pout.

“Because Satoru,” you said, giving him a kind smile, “it’s good to support local farms. And don’t you feel a sense of accomplishment picking them yourself rather than grabbing the first plastic container you see at a store?”

“I guess,” he said, reaching down to pick a strawberry off its plant before quickly retracting his hand. “The farmers should’ve cleaned up a bit before I came, though. The bugs and dirt are seriously grossing me out.”

The urge to roll your eyes was strong, but the love you had for Satoru was stronger so you refrained.

“Come over here and try this one. I made sure there weren’t any creepy crawlies on it that were out to get you.”

The white haired man didn’t pick up on your teasing, instead sending a solemn “thanks” your way. His long fingers hesitantly plucked a big, red strawberry from the vine.

“Go ahead, taste it,” you encouraged.

He did so, a look of pride overtaking his features.

“This is literally the best strawberry ever.”

“Wait, don’t eat the whole thing! I wanna try some,” you said. Your boyfriend extended a hand, helping you up from your place in the plants.

“I feel like a strawberry being pulled off the vine,” you joked, wiping the dirt off your pants.

“I really do know how to pick ‘em,” Satoru said, smirking.

Geto:

Suguru was the perfect man to take strawberry picking. He was in awe of the tranquility he felt somewhere like that, the peaceful atmosphere doing more to ground him than most anything he’d tried before. He eagerly picked two strawberries, feeding you one then taking a bite from the other for himself.

“I’m glad you’re here with me,” he said, brown eyes gazing lovingly into your own as the sun shone brightly over the two of you.

“There’s nowhere else I’d rather be, my love,” you replied, your hand gently placed on his cheek. He nuzzled into your touch the slightest bit, not caring if any passerbys took notice of you. He could smell the sweet scent of strawberry on your breath as you closed in toward him, placing a delicate kiss upon his lips. You didn’t want to be indecent in public so you kept it chaste and though Suguru desperately wanted to kiss you passionately enough to make parents cover their children’s eyes (and maybe even their own), he showed restraint. When he eventually pulled away from your kiss, he took hold of your hand that laid on his cheek and placed little kisses on the pads of each finger—also smelling of the red berries you had spent hours hanging around.

Nanami:

When you told Kento you were in the mood to make a strawberry pie, but had no berries, he was quick to come up with the idea to pick fresh ones from the local farm. Now, here you were, baskets in hand, weaving through patches of ripe fruit.

"How's it going, Kento?"

"Well. I have about half a basket full. How about you, my love?"

He never failed to make your heart flutter with his sweet pet names and the syrupy way they fall off his tongue.

"About the same. I'm going to get a few more and then we should be done."

You bent down to gather more strawberries when a gust of wind suddenly picked up, taking your sunhat right from your head. You barely had time to react before it was placed gently back in its rightful place by none other than your boyfriend.

"Oh, Kento, thank you! That's my favorite hat, I would've been so sad if I lost it."

"Then it's a good thing I'd do anything to keep you happy, darling," Kento replied, a soft smile on his lips as he gazed at you like you were the sun and he was a berry plant, relishing in your warmth.

Choso:

Choso couldn’t contain the huge smile that appeared on his face when he saw the strawberry fields for the first time. It reminded him of the bygone era where many were farmers, a time that he and his brothers were born in but never got to experience outside of their glass cases.

“People still farm?” he asked, his voice laced with amazement and his brown eyes glossing over the never ending rows of ripe fruit in front of you.

“Yep! Isn’t so neat how much society has changed over a hundred and fifty years, yet stayed the same?” you questioned, Choso nodding in a quiet bout of deep thought. You grabbed a few baskets and began filling them with berries, working diligently in comfortable silence.

“We should grow a garden,” Choso eventually piped up, taking a bite from a strawberry he couldn’t resist the temptation of.

You felt a smile settle on your own face. “Really? You’d want to do that with me?”

“Of course. I’d much rather go out to my yard than a store for fruits,” he replied, taking a break from berry gathering to look you deeply in your eyes, “and there’s symbolism in the whole thing, too. What’s mine is yours, cultivating life together… it’s all strangely…” He faltered.

“Domestic.”

“Domestic. Exactly.” He reached for your hand and you gladly let him take it, fresh strawberry juice from his fingers leaving a bright red stain on your skin.

Toji:

The sun was beating down on you and you were exhausted after a long day of strawberry picking. Taking a seat on the ground, you felt relief flow through your legs as you gave them a rest.

“You’re getting absolutely filthy,” said Toji, scrunching his face as he looked at you with something akin to disgust. “Get up. You’re not a baby.”

“I’m your baby,” you teased, earning an eye roll from your boyfriend. “Besides, I’m tired and it’s a long walk back to the car. It’s either this or you carry me back.”

With one fell swoop, you were off the ground and in the strong arms of the muscled man.

"You're insufferable, you know that?" Toji grumbled, but he wasn't the least bit upset at having you so close to him.

“I do,” you said, cheekily planting a kiss on his exposed bicep.

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dilemmaontwolegs · 11 months

Note

hellooo

are you accepting requests?

if so could you please write me one where reader is a journalist on the grid and basically everybody is flirting with her yk tryna bed her but shes only gonna let one of them do it

and shes like pretty assertive and dom, making the boys beg her to fuck them

you could pick who she fucks from lando, carlos or charles

sorry if this is too much i couldnt help it <33

Not really but I’m trying to do some while I finish the series I have on the go so I guess kind of??? My inbox is a gamble at the moment hahaha 💕

Say Please || LN4

Warnings: 18+ only, nsfw, sub!lando, dom!reader, edging, overstim. WC: 1.6k

F1 Masterlist

Miami was really bringing the heat and every rising degree was only intensified by the black asphalt beneath your heels. You were in desperate need of shade as you wandered the pit lane to observe some of the teams but that would have to wait. There were people to interview and notes to write so you could have your editorial piece ready by the end of the weekend.

“Oh, there she is!”

Lando’s voice carried on the warm breeze and you tipped your head to the sound before turning in his direction. The driver was nearly tripping over himself and Carlos to reach you first, Charles following behind with an amused smile.

“Hi Lan,” you greeted the winner of the impromptu race as he skidded to a halt in front of you. “I didn’t see you when I made the rounds in McLaren.”

His smile turned to a disappointed frown at the news and he groaned. “Ah man, I missed you.”

“You haven’t come by Ferrari yet, have you?” Carlos asked, hope filling his face as he waited for your answer.

“Not yet.” His hand closed to a fist and he punched the air making you laugh. “I haven’t taken a break yet and I’m dying of thirst.”

Lando held up one finger to wait as he ran back to his garage and returned with a bottle of chilled water. “I can get you something else if you want…whatever you want.”

Carlos suddenly rushed off and came back with a plate of club sandwiches and, not to be outdone, Charles retrieved an umbrella to shield you from the sun.

“My heroes,” you praised, giving them each a kiss on the cheek and enjoying the way their skin turned a rosy shade of pink.

Lando was the one who gave a giddy giggle and cupped his face as the blush spread down his neck. “You can have my driver's room if you want to get out of the sun. You’re so hot. I mean, you must be hot.”

“Mine’s bigger,” Carlos said as he stood a little straighter and leaned his elbow on Lando’s shoulder. “Because size obviously matters.”

“Not to me,” you smirked. They three men watched as your fingers wrapped around the bottle, twisting the cap off before sealing your lips around the tip. The cool water was just what you needed to battle the heat and you moaned with satisfaction after swallowing it down. “Mmm, that’s better.”

“So, uh, what, um, what does matter to you?” Lando asked with a sheepish look on his face.

You stepped towards the three of them and curled a finger until you were all huddled close in a tight circle. “You want to know what makes me hotter than this place?”

A round of eager nods bobbed around you and they leaned on even closer so you could feel their breaths on your face.

Pushing your sunglasses up your head, you looked each of them in the eyes and smirked and one by one they broke away first and looked down. When their heads were almost bowed to you, you finally answered them. “Nothing gets me wet like seeing my little pet submitting to me, down on his knees, willing to do everything to please me, begging for my attention.”

Lando’s legs looked ready to collapse beneath him and you knew from the moment you met that he had such potential. He wanted to please, he wanted to serve and was always the first to race to be at your side like an excitable puppy.

“Just one?” Carlos asked after a sharp intake of air refilled his frozen lungs. At your nod he peered at his friends with an edge that promised a strong competition. Charles narrowed his eyes in return, promising it wouldn’t be an easy competition, but Lando just looked down in defeat.

“What’s wrong?” you asked as you curled your finger beneath his chin to see his sad eyes.

Those pretty blue eyes flicked to the Ferrari drivers before returning to his feet. “They have more experience than me. I don’t have a chance.” You started to retreat with a sigh, feeling bad for putting such pressure on the man, but he caught your hand. “Please,” he begged, “just give me a chance, please?”

The warmth that radiated your body had nothing to do with Miami and everything to do with the needy desperation in Lando’s voice. It sent your heart racing and smiled sweetly as you cupped his face and pressed a soft kiss to his forehead. “Good boy,” you praised. “All you had to do was say please.”

Lando’s eyes were screwed shut but it did nothing to stop the tears from leaking out as he bit his lip to hold back the whimper.

“Good pet, just a little longer,” you soothed as you wiped away the salty streaks down his cheeks. “You’re doing so well.”

His dark lashes fluttered before they opened to show you a glimpse of the ocean, the waves shimmering in his tears. “Please, I can’t…I’m gonna cum…”

“Hold it,” you ordered as your hands returned to his weeping cock, the head red and swollen from edging him for so long. The vibrating ring was tight around his thick base and the veins that ran along his shaft grew bolder with each passing second. “You have such a pretty cock, my pet.”

His hands twisted against the restraints tied to the headboard, his wrists just as red as his face as he forced himself to refrain from spilling his seed over his lap. The taut skin over his balls pulled even tighter as you licked the delicate seam between them and you heard him moan as you felt his cock twitch in your hand. The sight of him laid out before you was incredibly beautiful but the whimper that fell from his lips was the pinnacle of perfection and for that you just had to reward him.

“Go on, bub, you’ve been so good for me, you can come.”

His entire body shuddered with the permission you gave him and his back arched off the bed as he erupted. There was no other way to describe his release as his cock pulsed and thick ropes of cum spattered across his stomach that rose and fell with quick pants.

“Holy shit,” Lando moaned as he tried to regain his breath but you weren’t finished with him yet. Your thumbs milked every drop out of him, massaging him using his own cum to glide smoothly over his silken skin until he whimpered from the overstimulation.

“I knew you would be the one,” you praised as you reached up to pull the slip knot on the ropes, releasing his arms that fell slack across the pillows. “You are the perfect little pet for me.”

You kissed his forehead before peppering them down his cheeks and finally reaching his lips that parted for you with a heady mewl. Combing your fingers through his damp curls, you pulled away and fluffed up his pillows to make him comfortable while he came down from the high he had endured. “I’ll be back in a moment.”

Lando nodded weakly, expended of all his energy, and you went to the bathroom to run a washcloth under the warm water. His deep hum of appreciation warmed your chest as you cleaned the mess from his hard abs before drying him off and dragging the blankets up the bed.

“Roll over, sweetie,” you coaxed him softly until he turned on his side and you climbed into the bed behind him. His head nestled onto one arm as your other draped over waist and you held him tight until the soft tremors of his strained muscles began to ease. “How was that for you?”

Lando’s small giggle made you smile and you kissed the beauty spot on his shoulder blade while you waited for an answer. When a few seconds passed and he hadn’t spoken you shifted closer so you could see his dopey smile.

“I need an answer, Lan,” you gently reminded him, “out loud.”

“It was…” he shook his head trying to clear the haze that clouded his thoughts so he could think of the word he was searching for. “Mind blowing. Overwhelming. Amazing.” He started to fall quiet and you watched as more feeling flitted across his face. “A little scary to start.”

You hid the frown that wanted to pinch your brow and kept the soft smile on your lips, not wanting to miss the opportunity to keep him open with his thoughts. “What can I do to make it better?”

“N-nothing,” he stammered. “I just didn’t know what to expect. It was one thing to talk about it but I guess I just…experiencing it was more. I liked it. I really liked it.”

“So you would do it again?” You didn’t even get all the words out before he was nodding eagerly and you chuckled as you pulled him tighter into your embrace, tutting when his hand started to run up your leg. “Get some rest first, bub. It’s a marathon, not a sprint.”

“But I want to make you feel good too.”

“You did,” you murmured as you nuzzled the back of his neck until you saw the goosebumps spread across his skin. “I enjoyed everything we did, and I will enjoy more of you later when you have rested.”

“Do you promise?”

You chuckled at the needy tone and drew small circles with your fingertips around his navel. “You’ll soon learn, my little pet, all you have to do is say please.”

Tagging: @moonvr @copper-boom @yunnie-f1 @ophcelia @lightsoutletsgo @alwaysclassyeagle @neiich @omgsuperstarg @starwarssavy23 @fdl305 @faeb1tch42069 @sweetestrose569 @pleasantducktimetravel @zendayabelova @dr3lover @writerscurse @christianpulisic10 @alexisquinnlee-bc @purplephantomwolf @belennasif @ryiamarie @mickslover @tyna-19 @destourtereaux @sunf1ower16 @octaviareina @laneyspaulding19 @booknerd2004-blog @mimimarvelingmarvel @chonkybonky @jpg3 @bangtanxberm @ohthemisssery

#lando norris x you #lando norris x reader #lando norris x y/n #lando norris fanfic #lando norris imagine #lando norris smut #f1 imagine #f1 fanfic #f1 smut #formula one imagine #formula 1 fanfic #formula one fanfiction

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babygorewhore · 6 months

Text

Prey

Rafe Cameron x Fem reader

Part one

Part two

After moving to the Outer banks to stay with your cousin, John B after your parents death, you catch the eye of Kooks. After being invited to one of his parties as part of a bet, you realize that Rafe Cameron has decided to make you his. Even if that means he’s going to stalk you.

W.C over 3k

Thank you so much to @take-everything-you-can and @reidsbtch for beta reading!!

Warnings! FemReader is alternative and introverted! Parental death! Bullying! Implications of stalking and flashing! Reader is slightly naive and easily manipulated at first. No use of y/n. No smut in this part but it’s definitely going to be in part two and I’m crazy. Concept inspired by @sadfury and Haunting Adeline by H.D Carlton. Events after season two but altered because I said so.

John B let you settle into your new room as you slightly grimaced. This was the last thing you ever expected, moving here away from home. But after the death of your parents, you weren’t able to live alone, you didn’t have a choice. He was the only family you had left.

You couldn’t be more different. He was used to the beach life, a Pouge as he educated you on the drive here after you arrived. He was sunshine, tan and light colored clothes. Sandals and shorts.

You on the other hand were an all black wearing, band shirts, dark makeup and tall boots that gave you at least four inches. You stood out like a sore thumb.

It was hard to adjust to the passing of your parents after the sudden car accident. It couldn’t be more cliche.

If you weren’t in your room crying, you were usually scrolling aimlessly on social media looking at your photos of them.

Shy wasn’t the exact word to describe you, introverted was a better description and you completely dreaded the next day because John B was determined to show you around and introduce you to his girlfriend and friends. You tried to smile, practicing in the mirror but it looked painfully fake.

The weather was just as hot as John B mentioned. You were wearing a band t shirt, black shorts and he tried to convince you to wear flip flops but you kept on your converse shoes. The beach was crowded much to your distain and you desperately wished you brought an umbrella.

This part of the beach had a golf course not far away and you had never played golf a day in your life. You stuck to solitary hobbies.

“You sure you’re not gonna get too hot in that? I can buy you a swimsuit.” John B nudged you with his elbow and you shook your head.

“No, thanks. I’d rather wear something I’m comfortable in.” You forcefully smiled as you shield your eyes from the sun rays.

“So, uh. We have a library in town, a few shops nearby. We have a pretty good restaurant Kie’s parent’s own. I know you remember some-unless you want to be alone.”

“I think that’s good right now.” You confessed as you both settled your towels on a spot on the beach. The waves crashed and it was a soothing sound you didn’t expect.

“Wow, it’s so beautiful.” You nodded.

John B smiled. “I’ll take it.”

You laid down on the towel, gingerly moving off any sand that flicked onto your calves. You did bring a book you were determined to finish when John B growled. “Fucking prick.”

“Why so hostile?” You questioned, you never saw him angry. John b crossed his arms and pointed behind you.

You turned, twisting your back to see two men at the golf course. You squinted but you could tell one of them was pointing in your direction. They were both blonde, dressed in preppy light clothing while holding golf clubs. They looked rich.

“Who are they?”

“Kooks. The worst of them. That one is Topper, he’s Sarah’s ex boyfriend and the taller one is Rafe. Her insane brother who beat the shit out of me, Pope and JJ.” You scowled and turned around.

“Kooks are the…?”

“Slang for the rich people. You and I are the Pouges.”

A few minutes later, his friends joined you. They were nice, really nice and outgoing. You stayed mostly quiet, watching the interactions and the way they swam in the water. Kie stayed with you the longest, consistent in her question if you needed anything or wanted to join them. You declined each time. Needing alone time after the long trip and new environment.

You sighed, having enough of uncomfortable sun bathing and decided to get a drink. You still had some cash and it wouldn’t kill it to just buy a soda. You walked to a shack, quickly wiping off your shoes of all sand.

You started towards the counter, grateful there wasn’t a line when a a blonde male moved around and stepped in front of you. He was the same man who was pointing at you and John B. The friend of this infamous Rafe.

“Hi, you must be John B’s cousin.” You remembered his name. Topper. He stuck out his hand and you folded your arms.

“Uh, yeah. That’s me.”

“Everyone’s heard about you, John B wanted to brag and Sarah couldn’t wait to meet you.” You internally winced at the not so subtle anger in his voice.

“Right, yeah.” You told him your name and started to step around him. “I’m just here to buy a drink.”

“Oh, let me,”

“No, really I’m fine-“ You both stood at the counter.

“I insist.” Topper paid for your soda and you wanted this interaction to be over.

“I’m not trying to be rude, but is there something you wanted?” You held the bottle protectively as he smirked.

“Sorry, I’ll get to the point. But I noticed how you were talking to the gang John b is friends with. And I wanted to see if you’d let a couple of Kooks let you show you around. You’ll actually get to see the island.”

Your hackles raised immediately and he sensed it.

“Don’t worry, we’re not gonna do anything. I just wanted to be nice. If you don’t want a tour, Rafe is throwing a party tonight. I wanted to invite you.” You raised an eyebrow and scoffed.

“No offense Topper but John B told me that Kooks wanted nothing to do with Pouges and how much you both hated him. Why would you be nice to me?”

To your dismay, he stepped closer. “Just because you’re John B’s cousin doesn’t mean we can’t be friends. And you don’t seem like you want to stay on the beach all day. Come on, maybe you’ll have a good time?”

You wanted to scream hell no, but something in your chest secretly wanted to get away, get a distraction for why you left home and John B unintentionally reminded you of your loss.

“I’ll-I’ll think about it.” Tooper smiled triumphantly and quickly wrote down on a napkin his number.

“Here. I really hope you come. And I can pick you up if you want.”

You gulped the bottle of coke and made your way back to the beach. After a few more hours of roasting underneath the sun, the invitation felt more and more appealing. The air conditioning didn’t work at John B’s house even though he was trying to fix it. And would one night really be so bad to let loose with a bunch of rich kids?

When you asked John b to drive you home, he kept asking you if you’d be okay alone and you firmly said yes. You left out the information of a party and Topper as you scrambled to find something to wear. Everything you had was black. Well. At least mostly everything.

You owned a pair of sparkly, silver high heels that you got as a birthday present two years ago for your twenty first and you hadn’t gotten a chance to wear them. Biting your lip, you slipped on a black dress that was mid thigh height, ruffles at the bottom of the skirt and it was a v neck exposing your bust.

Your hair was messy from the bun it was in all day so you braided it in two. Quickly slapping on makeup, you pulled out your phone and texted Toppers number.

“Is the offer still on the table?”

He responded almost immediately. “Of course! I’ll be there in twenty”

True to his word, he was there in twenty and you inhaled. You could do this. You could go to one party.

The ride was…okay. He talked to you about the landmarks and talked about who would be there. His friends since childhood and of course…he talked about Rafe. How great he was. How rich he was. How he took over his parents empire after his father’s death and he ran it alone. You withheld comments about being handed down rich lively hood as you kept quiet.

You dreaded if he made any advances towards you but he never did. He was ever the gentlemen when he parked in the driveway of the massive penthouse. Booming with music, you saw people dancing through the bare windows and the balcony.

You couldn’t believe you were here. John B probably wouldn’t assume you were out of your room and besides. You were a grown woman capable of your own decisions.

“Let’s go,” Topper opened the door for you and you followed him inside. It was crowded. More than any party you’d been too.

Several people turned and stared at you, you couldn’t tell if it was judgement or curiosity. You clutched your small bag where your phone was closer. You could call John B anytime, despite his probable anger.

“Can I get you a drink? I can introduce you to some people.”

“Sure, thanks.” You wanted to scream for him not to leave you alone but you stayed strong and drifted to a corner.

God, now you were having regrets as the music turned up and people started cheering. Topper was taking longer than expected and you decided to be brave. Fuck it. You moved from your place and wandered around. Your heels clicking over the wooden floors.

The kitchen was almost filled to the brim with people, several sitting on the island and girls immediately turned towards you and paused mid conversation. Topper held two cups as he talked to Kelce.

“Oh, hey! I was just about to find you.” Uneasiness settled in your chest as you took the red cup. “It’s okay. I just-.i feel a little awkward.” You whispered.

“Come on, I wanna introduce you to the man of the hour.”

You started gulping the alcohol to try and suppress your nerves as you both climbed the stairs to another lounge area with dark lights. People were doing lines, slurring from drunkenness and making out. Basically fucking as your eyes narrowed on Rafe.

Up close, he was fucking hot. Sharp jawline, blonde hair that was separated with bangs and crystal clear blue eyes that were currently focused on a girl straddling his lap.

They were tongues and teeth making you feel even more uncomfortable and another emotion hit you. You tried to shove it away, but his fitted light pants around his muscular thighs, t shirt that exposed his defined arms and large hands…thick fingers gripped her ass.

Oh god, you were fucking jealous over a man you hadn’t even talked too.

“Hey, man. Hate to interrupt, but this is the new girl.” You tried not to bite your lip and smear your lipstick as he pulled away from her.

His light eyes swept over you, pausing longer on your tits, hips and exposed legs. He gave you a nod before a small smirk slid towards Topper. “Get off,” he lifted the poor girl off and plopped her on the couch to her distain.

Your core tightened in anticipation as he drew closer. He couldn’t be more opposite. In clothes. In height. In status. He oozed power, money and sex. With a little danger.

“Mmm. Yeah. I saw you today with John B. Didn’t expect him with Tim Burton.”

You cleared your throat, offense rising but you tried to remember you were in his house and yelling at him probably wasn’t the best idea given he could crush you. You started to extend your hand but he turned.

“Hey, get your asses to the pool! Im tired of being up here!” He called out and everyone started moving quickly. His commands obeyed without question as he jerked his hand to point them downstairs.

“Oh, I don’t have a swimsuit with me-“

“You live on the beach. But you didn’t bring one, Tim Burton?” Rafe challenged, looking down at you with a hazed look. You couldn’t tell if it was dislike or anger.

Why would he invite you if he didn’t like you?

“Come on,” Topper gestured with his head for you to follow him.

The pool was lit from under the water where several half naked people were playing chicken, kissing and smoking. You didn’t exactly mind the scene but it was entirely out of your comfort zone. Your heels caught a puddle on the concrete and arms caught you.

You inhaled sharply, thinking for a second it was Rafe but you saw him sitting on a lounge chair with the same girl perched on his thigh. She was beautiful except for the death glare she was giving you. You turned around to see your savior. It was Kelce who gave you a smirk before you were launched over his shoulder.

You screamed, “What the FUCK?!” And then you saw Topper briefly before you sailed into the cold pool. The water stung your eyes as you flailed from the weight of your shoes and panic. You clasped onto the side and pulled yourself up.

Everyone was laughing. Even recording you.

Your chest burst with embarrassment, anger and utter heartbreak as you knew how stupid you were for believing this was a kind invitation.

You wiped your face as you got your bearings and black liner, lipstick and foundation smeared all over your hand. “Fucking shit.”

You went to climb up but you slipped again, causing more laughter.

You remembered your phone, oh god your phone. No, your purse was still held by Kelce. You let your anger heave you over and you crawled up, shakily standing before you yanked your heels off. Everyone was still laughing and recording but you locked eyes on Rafe himself.

He wasn’t laughing. But his eyes held a hint of amusement and the corner of his mouth was tilted up.

You wanted to run. Cry and scream. That’s exactly what they expected. Instead, you marched towards him, shoving people out of your way as you stepped in front of him and the girl.

“What the fuck is wrong with you?” You growled, pointing a dripping finger. “Is this your idea of some kind of joke?”

He shrugged. “It looks like I won five thousand dollars. Top didn’t think you’d actually come. I said you couldn’t resist some attention, Tim Burton.” He parted his legs further as he got comfortable.

You were seething but you were also petty. So you took the bottom of your dress, not caring if it exposed your black panties underneath around the crotch as his blue eyes immediately dipped down to the area. You flapped the skirt. Splashing water right in their faces. And when he stood up, the girl followed suit, you slapped him.

Hard but he hardly moved an inch as he chuckled darkly and took a small step forward. The water dripped from his brow and landed on the ground.

“Fuck. You.” You hissed. You turned around and flipped everyone off before he could get a chance to tell you off.

You stormed away, bursting through the house, ignoring the cat calls as you shoved open the front door. You didn’t have a car and it was late. You had ripped your purse away from Kelce and checked your phone. John B was calling you.

You answered. “Hello?”

“Oh my god, are you okay? I’ve been calling for an hour, where did you go?” He sounded worried and you winced.

“Um. Can you pick me up?”

“Yeah, of course. Where are you?” You cringed at his question but you had no choice.

“I’m at Rafe Cameron’s house.”

To say John B was angry was an understatement as you were sitting like a scolded child in his living room. You were still soaked like a wet cat as he rummaged to find a towel.

“I can’t believe you fell for it! I told you about those assholes. You can never trust them. Why did you even go?”

“Stop talking to me like I’m a child!” You finally snapped, standing. “I made a mistake. Can we just let it go?”

“Let it go? Rafe Cameron is a monster and you were made as an example for Pouges and now he has more ammo. He’s never going to leave it alone. And you may never-“

“What? Show my face? Be accepted? Guess what, John B, I’m already fucking USED to it. And maybe I just wanted a distraction from what happened. For once, I just wanted to let loose. Obviously, I fucked up. I’m going to bed.” You ground out and moved toward your bedroom.

“Wait, I’m sorry-“ But you slammed the door and locked it.

You were too upset to even shower as you yanked off your dress, underwear and shoved on an oversized t shirt, put your hair up and flopped onto the mattress.

Now, the tears started as you looked on social media.

Somehow they found your account and tagged you in dozens of videos of the incident. Horribly mean comments underneath caused you to cry harder. You never should have gone.

You hugged your pillow, about to close your phone and throw it, when a text came through. You didn’t recognize the number but hair raised on your arm as you read the words.

“Maybe if you did more than flash your panties, I would make them take them down.”

You sat up immediately. Now this, this had to be a joke. Rafe Cameron was texting you.

“Go. Fuck yourself. And don’t text me. I’m blocking you.”

“Do you really think this is my only phone number, Tim Burton?”

Your mouth parted. He was right but you thought of another tactic.

“Fine. I’ll change mine tomorrow.”

“Good luck. I’ll find out what it is.“ You clenched your jaw. Half a mind to call and scream at him.

“Leave me alone.”

The reply came almost immediately.

“I make the rules here, princess. Not you.”

You then pressed the call button. It rang once, twice, three times. “Pick up, asshole.” You grunted.

Finally, it stopped ringing and you heard silence. “I know you’re there, douchebag. Don’t text me anymore and don’t fucking call me princess.”

“Are you still trying to have control, princess?” You had to breathe deeply so you wouldn’t wake the neighbors with your yelling.

“What are you doing, Cameron? Why are you talking to me? After what you did? After hurting me like that? Is this some sort of sick game? Well, I’m not playing it. Stay the fuck away from me, you son. Of. A. Bitch.”

“I would be very careful how you talk to me, little girl. What makes you think this wasn’t what I wanted? You. All to myself.”

Fear stilled you as you whispered, “You-you leave me alone. I don’t like you. In fact, I hate you and I hate what you did! Fuck off.” You then hung up.

You shut off the light and crawled back into bed. Your body went from boiling hot to now ice cold. You blocked his number. Quickly and you shut your eyes. Drifting into a nightmare filled sleep being tormented by Kooks. Rafe Cameron’s voice and then…you dreamed of his dark eyes trailing the outline of your pussy through your black panties.

You snapped awake at the knock of your door.

“Hey, uh…do you want to go to breakfast? If not, that’s okay. I just want to make up for what happened. I feel awful for yelling at you and this shouldn’t be your first impression.”

You were tempted to say no. Let him go alone but you were hungry. And you wanted a distraction from the event last night. Sighing, you got out of bed. “Yeah, I’ll be right out.”

You throw on a pair of black shorts and your converse. Still wearing your big shirt and ponytail. You were weary of your phone, but you forced yourself to move past your fear and you snatched it from the pillow.

Another number was on your screen but you could see part of the message. You could only squeak when you opened it.

“I hope you enjoy breakfast, baby doll. I’d hate for you to starve that pretty little body. But I want you to behave. Like a good girl. Or this will be harder for you.”

Your mouth was completely dry when you stared at the screen. Oh fuck. He was true to his word. This was another number. But how the hell would he know about this morning? You realized the reality of this situation. He had eyes and ears everywhere.

You were certainly fucked.

And not in a good way.

Tagging

@scene-and-dandylover @xxhellfirebunnyxx @slvt4jamesmarch @take-everything-you-can @drewstarkeyslut @ifeeltoofuckingmuch @emsgoodthinkin @imyourdaninow @reidsbtch

#rafe cameron #rafe fic #rafe cameron x reader #rafe cameron x you #rafe cameron x female reader #Rafe Cameron x fem reader #Rafe Cameron imagine #rafe cameron one shot #rafe x reader #rafe cameron obx

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itaipava · 8 months

Text

— carlos sainz falling in love with you.

carlos always thought you were beautiful, but he truly fell in love with the beauty inside you; he slowly starts to fall in love with more than just your looks, like the way your eyes fill with so much passion and life when you talk about something you love, or the way you spend so much time clumsily baking a cake just to brighten your friend’s day, or even the way you smile at him… god, he’s so lost.

he looks at you a lot; sometimes knowing and sometimes without knowledge, because he just can’t help it, it’s like you attract him in an inexplicable way; and there’s a certain kind of warmth and purity in his eyes, like he says “i’m so lost in you, and i honestly don’t want to find myself anymore.’ but sometimes there is also a feeling of sadness in his eyes as if he senses that he is picking up on feelings for someone who may not feel the same; that you could break his heart into pieces and he would allow it. and when you playfully ask him why he’s looking at you like that, he smiles, his eyes softening before saying, “you know why”,

he protects and cares for you in little ways; he puts his arm in front of you or protects you with his body in crowded places. when it rains suddenly, he covers your head with his jacket or borrows his umbrella. he offers to accompany you to your home every nigh and, when he takes you home, he waits until you are safely inside your house before he leaves. his hand hovers over your face to shield your eyes from the sun when it gets too sunny. and to be honest, he’s too eager to let you wear his sweatshirt or jacket when you show the slightest sign of cold. he also always takes some extra snacks in case you need.

he loves touching you: putting his hand on your back while you go somewhere, putting his arm around you, gently pulling you close, holding your hand, holding your waist while you talk to him — and course he will only do these things if you feel comfortable and okay, because he respects you a lot and just wants to see you well. he loves having this moment with you; this touch and this intimacy. sometimes for you it may be something normal that any friend would do, but for him it is something he will never forget and he feels butterflies in his stomach every single time.

he subtly makes it clear that he only has his eyes for you; when others are talking about people they think are beautiful and their ideal types, he never joins the conversation, and if you’re there, he looks at you very often. if someone asks him to describe his ideal type, his mind immediately goes to you as he describes your qualities and characteristics. in a room full of people, he always wonders where you are as his eyes look around, the passionate smile on his face when you look at him from across the room, in a matter of seconds he’s coming to you to hug you.

he invites you everywhere and just wants excuses to be around you; “so it’s at a <specific time and place>, you know, just in case you change your mind and want to join us.” or “my birthday party this saturday; you will be there, right?” he says with a beam of light and a glimmer of hope in his eyes as he stands in front of you. wherever he is, he always chooses the seat next to yours, even though there are so many empty seats.

he asks you to do small favours for him. he doesn’t even think much of it; he’s just naturally drawn to you. you’re the first person he thinks of and wants to go to if he needs or wants something. and they’re usually very little favours like asking you to choose a colour for a new shirt that he’s buying or borrowing your pen when he forgets to bring one — even if others offer him, he politely refuses because it’s yours that he wants.

he loves talking to you more than anything, and even though he’s far away he still has a way to chat with you; whether through messages or calls or facetime, whenever anything happens, good or bad, you’re always the first person he thinks to tell. no matter how far away you are, you’re always completely up to date on everything that is going on in his life. you’ve never woken up without a good morning text or went to sleep without him calling you and asking about your day.

he becomes softer and more indulgent; he willingly puts up with your teasings and sass without retaliating much. if you pay just a bit of attention, you’ll see the little lingering smile on his face at your witty remarks. others find it equally frustrating and nauseatingly cute how unabashedly biased he is towards you; they’re all trying to convince him to follow them to a new restaurant and carlos puts up a good fight, saying no but the moment they mention you’ll be there, he immediately says “okay, what time?”

#f1 x reader #f1 fic #f1 imagine #f1 fanfic #formula 1 x y/n #formula 1 x reader #carlos sainz headcanon #carlos sainz x y/n #carlos sainz x you #carlos sainz fic #carlos sainz x reader #carlos sainz fluff #carlos sainz imagine #carlos sainz fanfic #carlos sainz #cs55 x reader #cs55 imagine

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sukunas-wife · 3 months

Text

I love Gojo to en extent but I can’t write him for anything 😭🤧

Master list

In this moment you looked like the perfect future bride. You had inherited your mothers graceful and soft features, your fathers stubborn heart and his ambition. Yet here you stood under the cherry blossom orchid with your oil paper umbrella blocking the sun from your eyes. Your Kimonos silk was glowing under the son. Vibrant Red with gold, the only colour you had long ago fell in love with.

That was until you stepped off of the guzei onto one of the small islands and you heard a voice call after you.

It was a boy without a doubt, you stopped looking back over your shoulder with an unamused expression. There he stood, Satoru Gojo, he broke out into the biggest smile, “Here I thought you were going to ignore me.” His head tilted to the side when you rolled your eyes with a smile.

”If you would have been any other man I would have gladly neglected you and have kept on walking. Even then, you are the most self assured, persistent and stubborn man I have ever met. If I had chosen to walk away there’s no doubt in my mind you would not allow me to do so peacefully.” Your words were like the fine notes of a Koto on summer nights played to appease and impress your fathers guests.

“A long time has passed since your last visit, Satoru. I assume you enjoy keeping me waiting like a pet waiting for its master's return.”

His strides were long and elegant as he approached you, he held his head high and his chest out, constantly looking like he was walking with purpose. That was one of his favourable attributes. You turned completely to face him, your paper umbrella twirling slowly behind you in your fidgeting fingers. He stood before you, leaving minimal space, leaning forward at eye level with you. He wore a special pair of spectacles hand crafted for him, they were dark and blocking the view of his face. Your hands came up, finger tips grazing the sides of his face, before they moved slowly over his cheeks to the frames of his glasses, he hummed, “hmm?”

Your lips were parted slightly but the words were caught on your tongue. Satoru brought his hands up over yours guiding them to pull his spectacles down. Looking into his eyes would never not be accompanied by a foreign feeling. Pools of glistening crystal waters under the sun couldn’t compare to his cerulean eyes, the sky in its finest blue would forever be overcast compared to his eyes. It was unworldly how his eyes always seemed to gleam and sparkle. His eyes were ethereal, a capture of heaven, he was a true blessing incarnated to live amongst men.

You didn’t look away from his eyes until you felt his hands slide down your side to hold your waist. You turned your head to look down when he pulled you closer, you didn’t miss the exhaustion in his eyes before you were held against his chest, resting his chin on your head as he crossed his arms over your waist keeping you firm against his chest.

“Now, tell me everything you have done while I was away. I want to hear every detail and every word of your past days, I’m sure you were lonely without my company.” You could hear his heart covered by his cheeky laugh, he was warm and smelt like spring. Still you felt the heat on your cheeks, how could you tell him while he was away you weren't too lonely because you had the company of another man? You hadn’t committed any form of scandalous action, yet even having the red eyed man sneak into your chambers at night to share a bottle of stolen sake accompanied by hushed conversations. You remember the feeling of his lips on yours, trailing over your jaw and down your neck with hot kisses, the feeling of his heat and the way he’d nip at your neck, spreading your Junihitoe open just a bit further so he could kiss your collarbone and shoulders. As much as he loved to bring hell to earth, you were one thing he wouldn’t dare cast into the fires, so he would always settle for bruising and nipping at the skin of your shoulders, and the lowest part of your collar bones that he knew you would never show so freely to anyone.

“I..” you hesitated, “my days were vast and uneventful. I was visited to be fitted for new robes for the summer season, I was given many things to bless our future…” Satoru hummed when you leaned your head against him, you closed your parasol holding it down by your side. “I know Satoru, that in tradition, you would spend days out and nights by my side. But, I really wish you would take some of these gifts to your own family's garden, for when you are unable to return to my side you will have me in memory.” He stayed silent, swaying you ever so lightly. “Choose any gifts you wish for me to take when I depart in the morning and I assure you I will find the perfect place for you to admire them when the chance comes for me to take you to my family home.” You pulled away to look up at him, he smiled down at you, “I will choose the best ones that remind me of home.”

one of his hands ran up your back in a comforting manner, “Let me take you inside, in all this fabric you are sure to faint under the heat of the sun.” You nodded, taking the hand he offered you, letting him walk you back. You smiled, staring at him with admiration as he told you his stories of convincing other nobles that if they were to rise up it would immediately become their downfall.

—- —- —- —- —- —-

You stood by your moms side, yawning and looking around, you looked up at her. You were waiting at the entrance of your family's home. You were tired from having tracked down the fireflies you had set free the night before. Your mother kept her hands tucked away in her sleeves, you still had no idea why you were here, or what was going on until you heard the approaching steps. A group of guards, a Palanquin, Lady servants, another Palanquin, another group of guards. They set the palanquins down, the first one opened, out came a tall man with pale blue eyes and white hair, he was elegant. A handsome man, he turned offering a hand to the Palanquin, a dainty hand reached out to take his, she was a beautiful woman, she had pale blue eyes with long black hair. She was very slender, but looking at her you knew she had an air of confidence, maybe a bit much. She let her husband's hand go; they both did a courtesy greeting. You did the same following your parents' example. Finally the Second palanquin opened, out came a pale boy, white hair and blue eyes, he stood there looking around unimpressed, before he introduced himself in a way that was supposed to be respectful but came off as arrogant, you looked up at your parents and didn’t miss the eyes they gave each other. He was interesting in your eyes, you’d never met someone your age to talk so casually and open in that manner to adults. As if he were in the same ranking as them, maybe even superior. None the less you were intrigued but you couldn’t even get him to look in your direction to wave or smile.

“Thank you for allowing us to host your family Lord and Lady Gojo, it’s an honour to have you congregate within our estate walls.” The palanquin holders were quick to move out of the way at the announcements of a new arrival.

In the eyes of every grown man and woman the sight was an ominous warning. It was a massive shining black palanquin, casting shadows where it passed. It was shaped like a shrine with gold accents. It was held up by 12 sturdy looking men, 6 samurai in black armour with gold trim lead, 6 samurai with black armour and gold trim followed from behind. You couldn’t help but stare in awe, the former family had entered gracefully almost quietly. But this family, they entered boldly, almost demanding attention, as if proving how powerful they were.

Your little heart was beating against your chest, the large black doors were slowly pulled open showing the bright red and gold interior. Finally a large frame came out, You swallowed seeing the intimidating figure. He was tall, broad, he looked as if your father neither Lord Gojo would be able to handle him in battle. He had pink hair loosely slicked back, he had markings on his face, but the right side of his face had scarring around his eye. His robes were black loosely tied, his expression was blank, calculating, casting judgement until he saw your parents, his eyes landing on you, those vibrant red eyes... You hadn’t realised you had moved to stand behind your mom peeking around her. His stare did not move from you, you felt a wind of confidence and moved from behind your mother and smiled at him. The edges of his mouth twitched up slightly in amusement, a sound like a satisfied scoff escaped his chest.

He turned his head to look back at the palanquin, out came a familiar face, long white hair, lifeless black eyes, tall and scary. You ducked your head not wanting to see the man again until you saw a second head of pink moving around. You quickly took your moms hand tugging on it when you saw him, Sukuna. He stepped out and stood by his father, eyeing Imuzu to move away. Imuzu looked displeased but stepped aside, giving Sukuna more space. Your mother was right that night, he was a mini version of his father. He managed to lock eye contact with you, you smiled giving a small wave. He looked a little bi longer, he didn’t wave back but you wanted to say you saw him smile even if it wasn’t noticeable. He was quick to follow his fathers when he greeted your family in a courteous manner. Your father gave them the same greeting adding on “I am grateful to your family, to you, and to your son for helping my daughter return home. You saved us from what could have been grief, anguish, and years of sorrow. For that we are grateful, should you have any request in which I am capable of assisting, please, bring it to my knowledge and I will do all in my power to assist you. Thank you Lord Sukuna and Thank you Young Lord Sukuna.”

Tag: @sadmonke @bumbles277353 🤍

#sukunas wife #sukunas wife speaks #daddy sukuna #sukuna ryomen #jujutsu kaisen #ryomen sukuna #jjk anime #sukuna thirst #sukuna x reader #gojo x reader #gojo x cheating reader #Gojo x wife reader #sukuna x reader x gojo #jjk sukuna #jjk satoru #jjk ryomen sukuna #jjk ryomen #jjk gojo #jjk gojo satoru

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fairlyang · 5 months

Text

Summer Lovin’ 🕷️

in which you have a little summer romance fling

w/c: 3.9K

pairing: greaser!miguel x f!reader

tags: 18+ smut. exhibitionism, making out, sucking on tits, eating out, fingering, praise kink, blowjob. mention of face sitting, overstimulation, 69, eating pussy underwater (LMAO), spilling the tea x2

notes: reposting my precious baby, my fav, my grease au series!! might post part two after this idk but I’m writing part 3 and I’m excited :D 🤝🏼

part two — part three

You had spent almost your entire summer in California, and being from the Midwest you took advantage of the hot weather and beaches.

You had stayed at your aunt's house along with your parents but not your older sister who apparently didn't wanna "burn to a crisp" but you didn't mind. In fact you loved feeling the sun on your skin and spent most of your days on the beach.

Your sister had teased you about a summer fling and maybe you'd meet someone but won't be able to bring them back. You called bullshit and said you weren't out searching for that kinda thing.

That was until you met him.

Miguel O'Hara.

One day you were reading a book on the beach under an umbrella when a guy came up to you and you were a little shell shocked looking at him. He was gorgeous. So handsome.

He asked what you were reading which made you laugh because he did not look like the reading type. He wore a black leather jacket and his hair slicked back, you can imagine reading is not one of his things.

And who the hell wears a leather jacket in the hot weather?

But nonetheless you still answered and he just nodded along probably pretending he knew what you were talking about.

"Well I came over because I thought you were gorgeous." He says giving you a wide smile, showing off his crooked pearly whites.

You chuckle and close your book, leaving it on your lap, "oh I bet a guy like you says that to all the girls." You say playfully rolling your eyes and he shakes his head.

"Only to the really special ones." He responds sweetly and you felt a shiver run down your spine.

And with that you were sold.

Almost too easy.

But it felt real.

Genuine.

You had spent the first three weeks of August with Miguel. Splashing around, building many sand castles, playing volleyball. Tanned while getting to know each other, had little picnic dates on the beach.

It was so surreal to you and he was such a gentleman.

But on the third week was when he was more flirty than usual, always touching you subtly like grabbing your hand or having his arm around your waist.

He would even twirl you around as you walked along the sand which just had you laughing as you tried not to fall.

One specific time he wrapped his arms around you as you watched the sun set, the waves lightly hitting your feet. He gently trailed his fingers along your waist making you turn to look at him, he was already looking at you, with a mischievous look on his face if anything.

He then leaned down, letting his forehead lean against yours, "you're so beautiful."

You smile and feel your body grow warm, "you're not too bad yourself Miggy."

He then let go of you and stood in front of you, bringing a hand up to gently cup your cheek. His eyes were sparkling and he just looked so handsome up close.

The pink, orange, and yellow rays of the sun hitting the sides of your faces as he looked down at your lips. He couldn't help himself.

And he knew he'd never see you again after this considering you'd have to fly back home so what's a little fun on your last week here?

You wrapped your arms around his neck, pulling him closer which only makes him chuckle, "no patience huh?" He teased and you shrugged.

"We only live once... and we might as well while we're young.." you say and lean up, pretty eyes boring into his.

He was quite shocked that you were the one making the moves but he wanted to be the one to actually do it.

So he did.

He leaned in and kissed you gently, you instantly kissed back and you swore you could feel fireworks erupting in your stomach. It felt so right. So nice.

He nipped on your bottom lip to which you then return as you feel his hands exploring your body. You felt them snake their way down your back then staying by your lower back.

Then you felt them slowly trickling lower to which you had to pull away and shake your head, "eager hm? No patience huh?" You mock and he snickers.

"Couldn't help myself doll." He murmurs and pecks your lips softly.

You melted back into his arms and kissed back before he pulled away and then leaned in to peck your lips again. He repeated this until you burst into fits of giggles which had Miguel ignoring the effect it made on him and pulled away, grabbing you by the hand as you went back to walking on the sand.

Things only progressed throughout your last week.

He snatched more kisses from you until the sun was gone and you had to go home.

The next day he had you on his lap and making out with you while his hand was trailing around your thigh. Only testing the waters.

But also playing around with you.

You were a good girl, not ever looking for trouble like this. But it seemed to have found its way to you.

And you couldn't help but want to open yourself up more to him, maybe not just kisses.

At least those were your thoughts when you were in bed, daydreaming about him.

You met up again on the third day and decided to maybe go a little further. Just a tiny bit.

So you were on his lap again, making out when you start to slowly grind yourself on him. He moaned into your mouth and it only made you grow more excited but you didn't want to push yourself too much.

And he was okay with that.

His hands were on your waist helping you move as his tongue explored your mouth. Gotta love a man that can multitask.

You moved faster and could feel his bulge grow hard beneath you. It made your skin feel hot and deep down you wanted to take it forward but also knew you probably shouldn't.

"Miguel-" you breathed out and pulled away but he latched his lips on your neck, kissing harshly against your skin.

You bite your lip and he made you continue your movements as he hummer onto your skin. "I- I-I think- maybe we s-should st- fuck-" you stutter and moan as he sucks on your neck then pulls away peppering the hickey in kisses.

"What were you saying doll?" He asks and kisses down your chest.

That day you decided to wear a bikini top with some shorts, clearly he appreciated that right now as he kissed your cleavage, bringing a hand up to squeeze your left breast. You moan and feel your eyes flutter, already losing your train of thought.

"W-We shouldn't do this here-" you breathe out but it didn't matter, he was already pulling your bikini top up.

"Miguel!" You squealed trying to cover yourself and looking around but it was vacant.

"There's nobody out here, you know we've been having this side of the beach all to ourselves for weeks." He murmurs and gently moves your hands away.

"So beautiful." He murmurs before squeezing both tits and latching on to your left nipple.

You bit your lip and held onto his head, you couldn't even blame yourself. You knew you wanted this. And that heat going straight to your core was the proof.

He pulled away and immediately sucked on your right breast, pinching your left nipple making you shift on his lap. He moaned against you and you almost forgot he was already hard. Almost.

It was kind of hard to forget since you were directly on him.

So you began to slowly grind on him again making him groan as you moved your hips back and forth. He pulled away and breathed out, "Just like that angel."

Your face flushed and you put your hands on his shoulders to steady yourself as you continued your pace. "Good, good girl." He murmurs before sucking on your left breast, leaving yet another mark.

A moaned escaped your lips and you can see a smirk on his when he pulled away. He looked up at you and pecks your lips before pulling away and taking you off his lap and setting you to his right side on the shared blanket.

He then moved down your body, hands already undoing the button and zipper of your shorts. You lift your ass up and he slides your shorts off setting them to the side.

He then gets between your legs, kissing and squeezing your thighs and he neared where you so desperately needed him. He kissed your left inner thigh then moved to the right side to do the same.

He then went down and looked at the soaked spot on your panties, nearly drooling. "Look at you doll, already so wet." He murmurs looking up at you before leaning in and leaving the softest kiss on your clit.

You moaned and bucked your hips forward but his strong arms kept you in place which only made you whine. But he didn't care.

He was going to go at his own pace. Just like you did when you were on his lap.

Even if he technically was making you a move a bit.

But still.

He gently moved your panties to his right side as you squirmed, whining above him but he ignored you to pay all his undivided attention to your gorgeous sopping cunt. "Oh baby this all for me?" He murmurs and you feverishly nod.

He tuts and smirks looking up at you, "such a dirty girl. Thought you were a sweet innocent good girl?" He teases only making you grow more wet by the second.

"God you're so perfect." He coos before diving full on in to your cunt, immediately getting a taste of how sweet you are.

You moan and bring a hand down to pull his closer already. You needed him so badly and didn't want to waste more time.

And he could tell.

He didn't mind, given how he started lapping at your folds and his nose practically buried in your clit. "Miguel-“ You moan out and he hums sending a vibration of pleasure curse through your body.

You look down at him and buck your hips forward, this time he doesn't stop you, letting you grind your perfect cunt against his mouth. His mouth went up and down your slit, slurping up your juices as you continued your melody of pretty moans for him.

He looked into your ears as he came up and flicked his tongue on your clit earning himself more moans. He brought his hands up and intertwined them with yours as you bucked your hips against his face, grinding yourself against his tongue. "Shit- feels so good Miggy." You moan and he hums against your cunt.

He moans and lets go of your left hand, bringing his right hand to start teasing your hole with the tip of his finger. He pulls away, lips glistening from your slick making you smile as he licks your arousal off. "Need more doll?" He coos and you nod.

"Yes- yes please Miguel." You whimper and he nods, shoving his middle finger inside you.

You groan and your walls clench against his digits as he starts fucking you hard. "Oh fuck!" You moan and grip your right hand against his.

"Feel good angel?" He asks softly and you nod with an almost drunken smile.

"So pretty baby." He mutters and then slides in his second finger immediately pounding his digits into you.

You let out a loud moan and try to close your legs but he quickly let go of your hand and spread them open. "Too much already doll?" He mocks making you whimper.

His fingers were much thicker than yours and you haven't had any other fingers inside you besides your own. At least in a long time.

"Look at you taking them so well." He says and looking at your cunt just sucking his fingers in.

He then shuts up and brings his mouth back to your clit, tongue flicking on your nub while his mouth sucks harshly. Your body was getting hotter and your legs were shaking as you kept them wide open for him. "Fuck!"

His praises only continued and drove your mind wild, and just like that you found out you had a praise kink. And he used that to his advantage.

Mumbling as many praises to you seeing just how much more wet you'd get for him as well seeing how long it'd take for you to just cum off his praise.

And it didn't take long for you to feel your orgasm approach before quickly taking over and your climax hit as he was calling you his good girl.

You let out cries as you came and clenched on his fingers, entire body shaking as he fucked you slowly letting you ride your high.

As soon as your breathing calmed down and he slipped his fingers out of you, you sat up and got him to sit in your position. "C'mon your turn pretty boy." You coo and he chuckles but moves so anyway.

And without another word you laid down between his knees and undid his shorts as fast as you could. You slid them off his legs and left them on top of yours before slipping his cock out of his boxers. You left those on and just started stroking him.

You lean in and lick his tip, tasting his precum and swallowing every drip then spit on the tip and letting it drip down before stroking him again. He let out a shaky breath and you looked up at him with innocent eyes that drove hims absolutely insane. "You look so pretty." He murmurs making you squeeze your thighs together.

You then took him in your mouth, slowly bringing your head down at first not thinking you'd be able to take all of him considering how thick he was but you were slowly getting there. Only took a few minutes to take half of him before he put his hands on your head and made you take him deeper.

You were gagging against him which only made him thrust his hips into your mouth making you take all of him. You closed your eyes already feeling them fill with tears but you fought through it and took him all the way feeling his happy trail hit your nose.

You pulled away and gasped, panting but then slipped him back into your mouth and letting him do it again but for a longer period of time.

Soon enough you felt him twitch in your mouth as he was deep in your throat. You closed your eyes, breathed through your nose and prayed for the best.

He groaned and his legs shook beneath you as he shoots his load down your throat. You swallowed as much as you could but it was too much so you pulled away and let it fall in his thighs. You start stroking him slowly which makes him whine as his cock twitched at the sudden contact but yet more cum continued shooting out.

"Oh fuck!" He moans as you stroke him and go down to clean it up with your tongue.

You made sure to lick off every drop before finally taking your hand off him and taking notice he was breathing heavily. "Holy shit-" he mutters and grabs your face, bringing you in for a kiss.

You kiss back and he slides his tongue into your mouth, getting a taste of himself which only made you weak in the knees.

He then pulled away and gave you a sheepish grin, "that was- do you really have to leave?" He says and you laugh.

"Sadly. But I still have a few days left!" You say and he chuckles before bringing you into his chest as you both looked up and see a few twinkling stars above you.

And you used those days up to the best of your ability.

Now you told him the one exception was you didn't want to fuck, not there at least.

So the following day he had you wear a dress and made you sit on his face. And he made sure to emphasize "sitting down" because he wanted to feel all your weight on him.

You were scared you'd crush him but he said that'd just be the most badass way to die which only made you slap his arm. But you ended up sitting on his face and it was the best thing you'd ever tried.

You ended up like that for a good few hours before your poor pussy grew tired and you were just so overstimulated.

So you ended up making out until the sun set and you gave him a handjob as well.

The next day was your second to last day before you'd leave and he wanted to try out 69-ing to which you didn't complain about. He had already grown so use to eating you out and did not grow tired of it at all. And he loved hearing your moans, feeling your body shaking.

So he couldn't complain either.

That same day he had the brilliant idea of trying to eat you out underwater, you told him he'd actually die if he did that but he claimed he could hold his breath for a while.

Well it felt weird for both parties and he nearly drowned so that wasn't worth it. But you then stroked him while hiding behind a big rock then you got down to your knees so he could cum on your face.

And finally on your last day you sat next to each other and touched each other until you both came at the same time.

Prior to that you were just spending time together for the final time. He wanted you both to cum as the sun set. How romantic.

As you both got up and got dressed you sighed, sad that your little summer fling would come to an end.

And unfortunately never getting the chance to actually have him fuck you. But nothing lasted forever.

So after the final make out session you both pulled away breathless and you felt sad. But also happy it happened at all. And that you got to meet him.

"If it's meant to be I'm sure you'll get to go all the way in the future." You joked making him laugh and smile.

"Hopefully doll, I'm sure you feel absolutely amazing." He murmurs and you slap his arm before shrugging and giving him a sly wink finally walking away to never see him again.

Or so you think.

Your parents ended up giving you the grand surprise that you weren't actually leaving. You were moving to California.

And the reason your sister didn't come was because they actually gave her the house and her boyfriend was going to move in.

Why they didn't think of telling you before? Who knows but now you were gonna be leaving here and they made you enroll in the nearest university.

Somehow you got in just in time for classes to start to. You didn't have high hopes in seeing Miguel considering he'd told you a couple times he didn't really like university and wasn't really thinking about going back.

And you weren't sure in telling him you weren't going back after all. Especially considering you just had a couple good summer nights together.

So you didn't give it a second thought and just decided that's all it would be. A summer fling.

Not like you had much choice considering you didn't have any way of contacting him anyway.

You ended up going to your first day of uni and met two lovely girls outside who immediately helped you out. Frenchie and Sandy.

They were so sweet and led you to your classes, even having a few with both of them surprisingly.

You ended up having the same schedule layout and you all ended up going to the large dining hall to get something to eat.

You were then introduced to their other three girl friends, Rizzo, Marty, and Jan. Frenchie explained their little group were called the pink ladies which you thought was cute. They all had matching jackets as well.

Suddenly a girl named Patty comes along and the trio roll their eyes and groan. You pretend you don't notice and just take a bite out of the macaroni you got before she sat down next to you and started blabbing about who knows what.

Then Frenchie, a godsend angel, turned to you and asked you how your summer was.

"It was good! Spend most of my time at the beach. Might've met someone there..." you say and Patty beside you giggles but Rizzo just scoffs.

"Laying all your eggs in one basket? For some guy?" She asks and you shrug.

"He was... special." You say and she gives you a fake smile.

"There is no such thing hun." She says and you sigh looking at Patty. "It was so romantic."

On the other end of campus, on some bleachers, the self proclaimed 'T-Birds' were also asking Miguel how his summer went. But he had already told them that he met a girl.

But unlike your reminiscing of the romantic portion of your days together, his friends' immediate thoughts went to the more explicit portion...

"You don't wanna hear all the horny details." Miguel teases and all the guys gather around him yelling at him that they absolutely do.

So you both ended up spilling what you wanted to reveal except you kept your mouth shut on your exhibitions, not wanting to say too much about that.

On the other hand Miguel gave them every dirty detail possible. But for him he couldn't bring himself to tell his friends about the romantic side of how things went.

No way in hell was he going to admit those kinds of feelings in front of the guys. And mostly because they all just fucked around. Even though he knew he felt something besides just when things switched to the dirty side.

And thus you both reminisced on your favorite parts of your time together not knowing you were both on the same campus. Soon enough you'd both run into each other shocked but for now you stayed in your respective friend group.

As you walked out of the dining hall and to your last class Jan asked, "so what was his name?"

"Miguel O'Hara." You replied and her eyes widened as her and Marty burst into giggles but Rizzo smacks them to shut up.

"If you believe in miracles I'm sure Prince Charming will show up again some day. Somewhere unexpected." She says and gives you a smile.

"Think so?" You ask and she nods, grinning ear to ear as the other two girls follow her giggling their heads off.

"Oh you think so Frenchie?" You ask turning to the redhead and she avoids your gaze, awkwardly laughing and grabbing your arm.

She gives Sandy a look before Sandy links with your other arm, "how about we get to class yeah?" She says to you and you nod, questioning what the hell was going on.

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mangocustard16 · 8 months

Text

A Shower of Love☔💕

| synopsis: You forgot your umbrella while going to work so your dear boyfriend came to deliver it to you.

| pairing: bf!mingyu x gn!reader

| genre: fluff

| warnings: none

| w.c: 630

| a/n: this is pure fluff, mingyu is Y/N's knight in shining armor.

The day had begun like any other. You were rushing out the door, leaving a quick peck on Mingyu's cheek, and a hurried goodbye as you hurried off to work. The sun was shining, and the forecast predicted clear skies. No umbrella seemed necessary. That was until, all of a sudden, the heavens opened up, and the sky poured down its liquid affection upon the city.

You stood at the entrance of your workplace, cursing your luck for leaving your umbrella at home. With a sigh, you pulled out your phone and sent a text to Mingyu, your ever-reliable boyfriend.

Y/N: "Babe, I forgot my umbrella at home, and it's pouring. Can you bring it to me?"

Mingyu's response came swiftly.

Mingyu: "Of course, love. I'll be there soon."

As you waited, you watched the raindrops dance on the pavement, creating a beautiful mosaic of reflections. The cityscape seemed to soften in the rain, and the world around you became a serene painting of wet streets and glistening buildings. The world seemed to hush, and the city's relentless pace took a temporary pause.

Then, there he was, your knight in shining armor, Mingyu, approaching through the rain-soaked streets. With a smile that rivaled the sun itself, he held your umbrella while getting drenched.

Mingyu looked into your eyes with a playful glint. Instead of opening the umbrella, he closed it and set it aside. He had a different plan in mind. You looked at him, your eyes questioning.

"Why don't we forget about the umbrella and just dance in the rain?" he suggested. You couldn't resist his invitation, and took his hand with a smile.

Together, you stepped out into the rain, feeling the cool drops soak through your clothes. The city transformed into a tranquil harbor, as Mingyu and you began to sway to the natural rhythm of the downpour.

The rain poured down on you, but it didn't matter. You just wanted to be together in that moment. The rain connected you, washing away the stress and endowing you with each other. As you danced together, creating a magical moment that no umbrella could contain.

The raindrops seemed to sing a sweet serenade as you kissed. The buildings shimmered in the rain's embrace, as your faces gleaming with countless water droplets that clung to every surface. The streets became your dance floor, and the rhythm of the rain was the tune that accompanied your impromptu waltz.

Mingyu pulled you close, and you rested your head on his chest, listening to the calming rhythm of his heartbeat. In this tender, rain-soaked moment, your connection deepened, and the world around you faded into the background.

You smiled at Mingyu as you felt the love so strongly that you couldn't help but express it out loud.

"I love you, Mingyu," you said. Your words were filled with sweetness and joy.

Mingyu smiled, his heart filled with love as he looked at you. Your words were music to his ears.

"Y/N," he said, "I love you too, forever."

With the rain as their witness, they shared a passionate kiss that spoke volumes of their love, sealing their promise amidst the watery embrace of the city that had seen their love story unfold.

The city continued to be drenched in the loving rain, mirroring the overflowing love between Y/N and Mingyu as they danced together in the storm. The scenery of their lives was forever changed by the beauty of the unexpected, the kind of beauty that only love, spontaneity and a rainstorm could create.

The city streets were their stage, and they were the stars of this romantic performance. They danced their way through the storm, two souls deeply in love, cherishing every moment, every raindrop, and every smile shared between them.

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teacheesee · 10 months

Text

beach day with zoro! (zoro x reader)

you and zoro spend a lovely day at the beach!

no pronouns used :)

warnings: fluff ⭐️

You huffed out with the weight of a few too many bags as you emptied the car of your stuff. Your sunglasses slipped down off your head over your eyes, while you were relieved of some of the weight you held.

“Need help?” Zoro asked, grabbing nearly everything from you. You peered up at him through your disheveled sunglasses and he laughed, turning to walk toward the boardwalk that led down to the beach. You followed him, umbrella in tow, starting to get excited for the fun afternoon ahead of you two.

The sun bore down as you chose the perfect spot and set up a blanket and the umbrella, right in front of his condominium complex, the beach relatively empty of other people.

“Man, it’s hot,” you wiped your forehead, “I’m gonna go to the water, be right back.” You stripped of your cover-ups and walked to the edge of the tide. You stared down, watching as sand drifted under your feet, too distracted to hear the dull thump of running feet coming from behind you.

Zoro crouched and picked you up, hoisting you over his shoulder with ease, and continuing his sprint into the blue water. Your squeal of surprise quickly turned into a fit of giggles as he slowed down from the waves pushing against him. Your laughter was cut off soon, however, when he reached a deep enough spot to fall, taking you right down with him.

When you both surfaced but before he could recover, you lunged at him, tackling him back down. You laughed, choking slightly on the water that had managed to get up your nose. He stood up, shaking off his defeat with a smile, opting to tread over to where you stood.

“Off to a good start,” he said. You turned and smiled at him, deciding to walk back to the shore.

You dried off and laid down, opening your book and queuing some quiet music up on the speaker as Zoro laid next to you, falling asleep almost immediately in the warmth of the sun. After a while had passed, a half hour if you had to guess, he woke up to you still delved further into your book. He smiled as he looked at you, and you felt it, looking up at him.

“What?”

“Nothing,” he said, closing his eyes once again before getting back on his feet. “Gonna walk a little.” It could’ve been the sun, but his ears looked pretty red. Rolling your eyes, you returned to your book. The sun was finally getting to you too, it seemed, as you decided to close your eyes.

A quiet shuffling behind you woke you up from your brief rest, and when you turned to look, Zoro was crouching at the edge of your blanket, looking like a deer in headlights. It definitely was not the sun this time. You scooted over to what he was doing, and he sat next to you.

He collected a bunch of shells and had arranged them for you in the sand.

“I know you like the smooth ones, and the red ones, and the ones with holes in the top so you can put them on necklaces,” he mumbled, looking away from you, “I thought you’d like them.”

“These are so cool!” you oogled at the collection, and it was an impressive one at that. “Zoro, there’s no way we can take all these home, did you leave some for the rest of the beach?”

He chuckled. “I know we can’t take them all, just thought you’d wanna see them. There is one I think we should keep, though,” he held out his hand to you and dropped what felt like a small stone in your open palm. When he pulled away, a sizeable round chunk of green sea glass sat in your hand. Your eyes lit up.

“No way! No way!” The excitement in your voice was enough to bring a smile back to his lips as he watched you hold the foggy green piece up to the sun.

“How did you find this,” you asked, eyes gleaming with happiness. He shrugged, and you reached around his neck and pulled him in to kiss his cheek. “You’re the greatest.” He leaned into you and rested his head on your shoulder, watching your hands fumble with the sea glass. He yawned.

“Nap time?” His yawn was contagious.

“Yeah.”

After gathering your things, you proceeded to walk back to the condo parking lot to drop off the beach supplies. You sighed, the hot summer heat finally getting to you, the cool relief of the air conditioner hitting you as you and Zoro walked into the condo.

“I’m gonna shower, then you’re gonna shower, and then its nap time.” He nodded in agreement, words long driven away from the excessive heat.

After he got out of the shower, he found you crouched over the kitchen table, messing with some thin string. He leaned over you, warming the air around him and you breathed in the refreshing smell of his body wash.

“Look!” You had figured out how to entrap the sea glass in a small web of string, and showed Zoro your handiwork. “A necklace! Cute, right?” You looked up. He took the necklace from your hands and tied it around your nape.

“Very.”

You stretched and yawned, standing up and walking into the bedroom. The cool sheets fell nicely against your frame as you settled in, Zoro joining you, eyes drooping with exhaustion. He moved next to you, pulling you against his chest as he finally closed his eyes. Your hand fiddled with the necklace as you looked at your sleeping lover, a smile crossing your face as you let your eyes close for a quiet afternoon nap.

_____________________•.*_____________________

A/N i’m probably the # 1 believer that zoro is a sweetheart. i hate when people make him the meanest guy alive >:( i don’t think he has the emotional capacity to be mean if he wanted to LOL he’s simple 😽

guys leave me requests i have no ideas i just keep writing about the things i do every day as if zoro is there too. which isn’t creative it’s bonkers. anyways toodles

wait not toodles i was listening to dionysus by the buttertones while writing this. if you even care 🙄

#one piece zoro #op zoro #zoro headcanons #zoro imagine #zoro roronoa x reader #zoro x reader #zoro x y/n #modern au #one piece modern au #zoro fluff #fluff #PLEASE GIVE ME IDEAS AND REQUESTS PLEASE OMG PLEASE

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appleiover · 1 month

Text

. ݁₊ ⊹ HOUSE OF THE RISING SUN

synopsis ; you're forced into a position you don't want to be in when the marquis is in need of a new employee and you fit his high standards.

୨ ˙ ∘ contents. post-canon. canon divergent. fem!reader. implications of murder. mentions of murder. 4.4k words.

notes. finished the john wick series [including 'the continental'] and i am obsessed. here is a work of my favorite arrogant french brat. please be advised that english is not my first language. enjoy!

THE WEATHER FEELS LIKE AN OMEN.

rain falls along all it can touch, tired eyes observe two droplets in a head to head race down the tinted window of the sleek, black town car. gently and idly, the pad of your thumb runs over the smooth surface of the sapphire jewel in the center of the silver ring around your index finger. there’s a hint of bitterness across your tongue, from the drinks on the plane or the new york atmosphere you’ve not been in for quite some time that you’re not sure of. maybe an unfortunate mixture of both. your brows twitch, pupils shrinking deeper into your irises as they climb up the many floors of the tall, looming building of deep brick build and many windows at a round corner.

the town car comes to a slow stop before the stone steps leading up to the double mahogany doors with the gold trimming. “i can retrieve it myself.” you speak after clearing your throat, the driver shifts back to his seat and you sit up yourself on clean leather seats. “thank you.” he nods silently in return, meeting your eyes with his deep blue ones through the rearview mirror. you turn and grab your umbrella from the space beside you, the door opens to bring cold winds against your face and through your dark clothes with some droplets of hard rain.

pattering against the smooth black fabric, you hold up your umbrella over your head and turn to the slightly ajar trunk of the town car. water splashes where the wheels of the sleek black suitcase hit the ground, more water splatters when you slam the trunk shut and turn on your heeled boots towards those stone steps. the doorman doesn’t move an inch more when you shake your head firmly at his attempt to step over to take your bag for you. the continental hasn’t yet lost it’s hospitality, you think while he opens the door for you and takes your umbrella after you give a word of gratitude.

familiarity hits you like a train when you enter the continental. it smells of expensive colognes and perfumes dancing with cigars and top shelf liquors. everything is dark, black and deep brows with golden trimmings and warmer ambient lighting rather than overhead fluorescent brights you can recall of the old continental. you see some familiar faces, some new ones, some you’re not too fond of seeing. rolling along the ground smoothly, your bag stops beside you with the release of the handle once you reach the front desk. but a bit of disappointment drags at your heart, your eyes flickering up and down the new concierge.

“welcome to the continental.” the woman with copper skin holds a heavy accent of one from east asia. she smiles a plastic smile, her big hazel eyes hold your gaze with a politeness a woman of her position needs to hold. “we are quite pleased to have your return, miss.” she says pleasantly while her gaze shifts away to the computer her manicured fingers type along quickly. you nod gently while you tug off your black leather gloves, watching her closely and admittedly admiring the beauty of her. from her long dark hair to her deep purple dress. “i have you for four nights?” asks the concierge.

you shake your head gently. “i’m unsure. it could be shorter or longer.” you explain. she smiles a bit bigger with a gentle nod, some more clicking and clacking as you push your leather gloves into the inner pocket of your long dark coat. when you retrieve a gold, round coin with intricate detailing along the front, back, and edges, you slide it across the counter.

without looking at you, she exhales through her aquiline nose and smiles while retrieving it. it disappears into the pocket of her classy dress that reveals her prominent clavicles. “room 820. please enjoy your stay, miss.” you nod in gratitude, taking the key from her and grabbing hold of your bag to hold it off the ground rather than roll it. tossing a glance to the bar past the desk, you decide against having a drink at the risk of being pushed into conversation by those who are already eyeing you throughout the walk to the expensive and well-built elevator.

once you’re in your room, you look around and notice there aren't many differences. it seems the rebuild of the continental meant a true rebuild. the room feels cold, not temperature wise, but in another sense. cold gray walls, minimal furniture and decor of bland, dreary colors. the saving grace of the room is the beautiful view overlooking the city across the distance, bathed in nothing due to the thick and heavy storm clouds, a dark gray wool blanket over the sky. you stand by the view for a few moments with your coat and heeled boots discarded beside a chaise seat of a deep black velvet.

you shudder a bit, admiring the view but not the city itself. you’re unable to. yet you can’t pull yourself away from windows dripping in rain outside. thankfully, the ringing of the old telephone beside the bed draws your gaze. you turn and you walk over with a brisk pace.

“hello?” you answer.

the concierge’s voice comes through the line. “forgive me for the disturbance, ma’am. the manager would like to see you in the lounge, would you be inclined to see yourself there in fifteen minutes?” your brows furrow, your lips part in moment’s hesitation, silence is all that comes out. “ma’am?”

begrudgingly, you nod despite her inability to see you. “of course. i will be there, thank you.” hanging up the phone and slowly easing yourself down onto the edge of the soft bed with expensive, smooth bedding. your hands press to your knees and your lashes flutter shut. as if being in new york wasn’t enough of a weight on your chest and shoulders – to be here without the “comfort” or whatever you might call it of the familiar people you’ve known through the entirety of your career…well it’s all the more difficult. especially given the fact that if rumors stand true of who the new manager is, well, you’re not particularly eager to see him.

regardless, you change out of the slightly uncomfortable clothes that feel too worn in from travel. once in a dark pencil skirt and long-sleeve black top that hugs you the same, you leave your room with dark heels and dark pantyhose to tie the look together. you want to be comfortable, but you’d rather not hear his mouth should you look anything but professional and formal.

in the lounge, which is anything but a place to lounge in your opinion, your eyes immediately find the man unfortunately true to word of mouth. he sits in a leather seat, his ankle over his opposite knee in a pressed pinstripe suit of deep navy and white accenting. in his large hand adorned in two expensive silver rings to watch his expensive silver watch is a glass of rye. you breathe in deeply and walk over, hands folding behind your back and your thumb gently stroking your ring around your index finger. the highly revered louis leblanc turns to look at you, a handsome man tall and dark grins with pure satisfaction in his olive eyes.

“ah such a pleasant face to finally see in new york. a smile that could make the clouds clear.” he coos and praises while setting down his glass to stand. you refrain from rolling your eyes at the charm of the man that must have used such flattery and charisma to slither his way onto the seat he doesn’t deserve to see nevermind sit on.

you force a smile, meeting his gaze and taking his hand outstretched to you. “a pleasure as always mr.leblanc.” you shake his hand, he leans closer and grins wider while sandwiching your hand between his large ones.

louis leblanc, a frenchman with a love of rye and women of the night. he looks older since last you saw him, his inky black hair tousled carelessly holds streaks of gray and facial hair covers his chin and upper lip in a well-groomed style. those sharp and angled cheekbones still on display as is the c-scar on his left side of his jaw is a reminder for you to not let him get too far beneath your skin. still, his touch makes your skin crawl and that bitterness increases tenfold along your tongue.

“oh, no formalities, my dear. i am aware it has been some time but please – regardless of my position – louis is fine.” of course he’d subtly slip in a brag of his newfound rank. you pull your hand away and refrain from wiping it off onto your skirt, instead you hold it behind your back and look into his gaze that’s just an inch or two taller than where yours naturally rests. the man gestures to the seat across from him, another leather seat across a long-legged round table with a vase and burst of color in red roses in the center. “sit, please.” it isn’t a request. clenching your jaw, you take your seat across from him.

you’re unable to help yourself, fixing one knee over the opposite with hands folding down on your lap. “you must be very pleased with where you sit.” you comment, tone calm and relaxed and face the same. louis smiles at you wider, the older man sighs almost wistfully. dramatically. you know this man, perhaps more than you know anyone else in this world, at least now with the death of the three you could once call family. unfortunately, knowing him isn’t sweet and comforting as it was with the others. it’s only bitter and rigid. he’s a performer, a marinette with numerous faces. “i never imagined you’d take a managerial position, you never were one to follow rules.” you observe while not breaking eye contact with him.

shrugging lazily, the frenchman reaches for his glass. his eyes flicker downwards momentarily before returning to your gaze. “what can i say? who would be foolish enough to pass such a opportunity?” he takes a sip and your eyes flicker to the bartender who sets down a glass of your favorite liquor in front of you. your brows twitch and lips part but louis continues. a good distraction that gives the bartender time to walk away and shift your focus to louis. “and any excuse to leave that shit den of reuben.” louis scrunches up his hooked nose with the mention of paris, disgust evident in his face.

despite your prior choice to not drink, you can’t help it around the suffocating air of louis. you take the glass and raise it, offering a comment before a sip. “is this what you wished to talk to me about? i was on a plane for thirteen hours, small talk isn’t necessarily something i’m fond of after such a thing.”

louis grins, a crooked one with raising thick, but well-groomed, brows. “you are not fond of it ever.” he remarks with a light chuckle. then he shakes his head, he waves a hand with a sigh. “but always straight to the point, how i’ve missed it.” louis sets down his glass and his hands fold on his lap while you set down your glass to instinctively copy his movement. “i was simply curious about your time away, why you’re returning despite your lack of response when called forward by the table for a certain…boogeyman just a year ago?”

the muscles beneath your warm flesh and within your warm clothes stiffen up immediately. the mention of the man dead and gone, a rotting body beside the most wonderful woman you had ever met, makes your heart twist and feel cold. your gaze doesn’t waver, neither does your expression or demeanor. shrugging gently, you tilt your head.

“you know where i was as i’m sure you know why i’m returning.” you reply, never one to necessarily mince words or care when speaking to louis. maybe a bit stupid on your part given his new position but you still don’t care. your eyes finally drift away, you gently rub the sapphire on your ring and your brows furrow slightly. “the table has already questioned me about my disappearance during that time, i was off the grid with the permission of the manager of the continental in japan.”

a sparkle dances across the olive iris of louis’s eyes, his smile lessens ever so slightly. “yes…the manager who is now dead for fighting for the life of a traitor.” your jaw tightens ever so slightly. the implications of louis’s words make your stomach coil with barbed wire and your heart ooze with citrus into fresh wounds. leaning forward a bit, louis tuts his tongue. “but forgive me, i was simply curious. i truly did not think you’d come all the way back to new york for a simple meeting with the table. do they not usually come to you?”

you know what he’s doing. he’s trying to make you nervous, jittery and shaky. into that girl he once knew. but it doesn’t work, just as it hasn’t for years.

“the table calls and i come.” you reply while you glance at your thin watch with a small shift up of your sleeve. then you lift your gaze and a bit of a humored smile tugs at the corner of your lips. so faint that if not for the twitch in his brow you might think he didn’t notice it. “you of all people should know that when the table tugs on your leash, you come.” louis’s perfect jaw tenses, he reaches up and his knuckle gently brushes that scar. you wonder if it’s instinctive, if he even knows what he’s doing there.

slowly, he stands and exhales deeply with a pleasant smile returning to his handsome face. “i do hope we might have dinner before your departure, well if the meeting with the table isn’t something too severe.” he says sincerely, albeit a bit stiff given the tension between the two of you so thick it could be cut with a blade. you nod, reaching for your drink and bringing it towards you with your eyes trained on him. buttoning his jacket, he turns and takes four steps before he pauses. you pause with your lips on the rim of the glass. “i am sorry for your losses, my dear. heavy is the head that wears the crown.”

there isn’t a droplet of sincerity in his voice. not a single morsel. there’s amusement…satisfaction just as there is at the corner of his lips and twinkle in his eyes. your eyes narrow ever-so-slightly in a glare as he steps away. taking a big drink from the glass of liquor, you set it down and place the back of your hand against your mouth. a burning sensation moves down your throat, a sharp exhale pushing from your nostrils. your eyes screw shut for just a few seconds.

you hope this meeting with the table is swift enough. you don’t want to be in this hellscape for a second longer.

⠀⠀꒰ྀིㅤㅤ ಿㅤ　﹒　　 ׅ 　ㅤׂ　　 ݃　　♱ . . ݁ 　₊ 　　⊹ 　. ݁　　˖ 　.　 ݁

the table calls when they want, wherever they want, however they want. it’s two days later when you find yourself sitting in a beautiful gallery of oil paintings within one of the highly revered art galleries of new york. you’re dressed proper for the occasion of meeting a representative of the table. long straight slacks with a flowy dark blouse tucked into the high waist with some buttons undone from the clavicle to the cleavage. a coat rests on the cushioned long-seat beside you as does your purse. one knee rests over the opposite, your tall heel bouncing and fingers twirling the ring around your index finger while you admire a beautiful renaissance painting in wait.

an odd place to meet with a representative, a speaker, an – often – stiff and frigid person. usually meetings will take place quite literally anywhere else formal and stiff. not such a beautiful place. you’re not necessarily complaining, it’s nice while you wait. but you’re a bit more than irritated as the half hour mark of tardiness passes on your thin watch. it’s already nine-thirty at night.

a minute passes and clicking of shoes can be heard. you slowly stand and turn to the sound of footsteps, five people, and fix your appearance. hands fold behind your back and you step around the chair. but your heels come to an abrupt stop just as they come back together when your eyes first land on the man you know of, the man you’ve heard of, and the man you’ve never seen. but the crest that lies against his left breast pinned in his perfect deep crimson colored suit with accents of black and trimmings the same, is as obvious and clear as rain to you. your anger sparks a hot flame in you, bitterness sweeps your tongue so sour you nearly make a face while standing straight and poised.

what is it with the french and your penchant for detesting them?

the marquis de gramont walks towards you with one hand in the pocket of his slacks and the other idly resting at his side. he walks with a swiftness, a sureness in each step and confidence in his broad shoulders that almost conceals the arrogance in his tall frame. cryptically, beautiful but piercing almond sunken eyes a gorgeous light shade, analyze you from the toe of your heels to the very top of your head. pink lips are set thin, his entire face cryptic and body untelling of what he may be thinking or what he might do next. your brows furrow slightly, he stops just four feet before you. the four other men he’s with stop with looming and intimidating demeanors.

the frenchman speaks your name, then he exhales deeply and steps closer. “such a pleasure to meet such a prolific woman of your reputation.” his hand extends out, you nearly hurl having to put your hand forward to take his. he smiles politely, yet it doesn’t reach his eyes. “and at such a young age too.” you’re unsure what he means by that, what it has to do with anything. his hands are soft, his grip firm.

you pull away your hand, maybe this is the table’s subtle way of punishing you. as if you’ve ever been silent of your dislike for the marquis. “i did not expect you to be the one i’d be meeting, sir.” still, you’re not an idiot. you mind your manners, tucking your hand behind your back and holding his eyes with two steps back. “what is it the table wishes to discuss with me?” straight to the point, blunt.

“abrasive” as louis would say.

“admirable” as john would.

pushing the men out of your head, you give your attention to the marquis who raises his brows a bit. he nods and folds his hands behind his back just the same. “ah, you are as blunt as spoken, mademoiselle.” he comments, observes obviously. “well i was the one to call for you, though i knew if i did not use the table with my hand you would not fold your own.” your brows twitch and the marquis brushes a hand over his chestnut, brown-blonde hair perfectly styled. then the marquis smirks a bit of an arrogant one. “i am aware you are not a fan of me. no need to be surprised of my knowledge, i know quite a lot about you.”

maybe it’s the new york air, maybe it’s facing the man who murdered the one person in this world undeserving of being taken out by a spoiled, rich prick, maybe it’s time spent in the continental – constantly feeling watched. whatever it may be, your patience feels much thinner than usual.

“is this the part where that is meant to make me nervous?” you ask with a tilt of your head.

the marquis raises his brows ever so slightly. then he looks past you, to the painting. “no. i am simply stating fact, miss.” slowly, he walks towards you – well towards the painting behind you. and he continues speaking. “in the passing of the formidable, the boogeyman, what all call him, word of mouth is his little…protege is on par with him.” you blink softly, he walks past you and you turn to watch him. his expensive cologne fills your head. it’s irritatingly pleasant, just enough.

“is this little spiel heading to a point?” you bluntly question, hands tightening behind your back where they hold one another.

you notice slight tension rise in the shoulders of the marquis. you’ve heard enough about him. a man calm and cool, calculating and cryptic – as unpredictable as a bomb ticking and ticking with no set time. you’ve heard the stories of those who test his patience, who test his hand, who do anything but nod and smile obediently. who do anything but ask “how high” when he says “jump”. still, you’re bitter. whether it’s subconscious or not, you ache and you hurt. you’ve been in this world for so long, you’ve lost so much and gained plenty and yet still…some things have a way of seeping into you.

seemingly admiring the painting, the marquis tenses his hands at his sides before he folds them behind him again. he slowly turns to face you and he lifts his chin ever so slightly. “my closest advisor, my personal guard, recently left on an indefinite vacation. in need of someone new, your name is the one that came up most amongst my peers and those i do business with.” your eyes widen ever so slightly, blinking and unable to bite back the scoff in your throat, you shake your head.

“they must not have your favor in mind in that case.” you reply matter-of-factly. shaking your head gently once more, you look him up and down before meeting his admittedly pretty eyes. “if you know of my dislike for you so clearly, then how can you trust me to protect and advise you? to carry out your orders?”

“because you have no say in this.” the marquis replies bluntly while tucking one hand into the pocket of his slacks. you furrow your brows and blink, anger pushes like a hot wave throughout your entire body and frustration tenses all of your muscles. with a gentle shrug and bored expression, he gestures to you lazily with the hand not in his slacks pocket. “and you are no fool, mademoiselle. you will do as told and you will not bite the hand that holds your leash. despite your mentor, you are more one to follow rules, no?”

he’s right. irritatingly and rage-inducing so. furrowing your brows and pressing your lips tightly, your eyes flicker around the beautiful gallery. despite the man you’d known for some time, despite the rumors of your level of skill in comparison to his especially with the gap in age – despite every connection you’ve had to him, you’re not an idiot. you don’t hold any belief to be above the table, to be untouchable, to be disobedient when the table does in fact hold your leash. and those hands include those beneath the table.

but this feels like a punishment, torture. to be forced to advise and protect the bastard responsible for taking all you had left. to be forced to give your life for the spoiled, arrogant frenchman’s.

“the table would not even allow you to take me from the work that brings plenty to their feet.” you reason with obvious anger thinning your tone and a glare narrowing your eyes at him.

it takes plenty to not break his jaw against the seat he stands behind when a slight ghost of a smirk twitches at the corners of his pink lips. but the bored expression remains, he exhales deeply. “they are quite pleased with such circumstances, mademoiselle. perhaps your little…coincidental unavailability in the wake of the search for john wick has left them a bit sour.” so this is a punishment. too much blood for that you couldn’t shed. you feel the faint thrumming of anger in your heart, frustration twisting your stomach and resentment tying at the muscles and tendons within your body. this bastard shouldn’t even have the right to speak his name…and yet he of all people was the one to kill him.

like a dog, you’re trapped in a cage. you have no say in this and you know it as well as the marquis does. your brows twitch and your hand reaches up to gently place over your mouth. you’ve swallowed plenty beneath the table, you’ve taken more. this feels like the last spill of bitterness forced down your throat. and with the reminder of your oath inked across your back and branded against your tailbone, you slowly drop your hand and your eyes meet the marquis’s de gramont’s.

“i am not your dog or your pet.” you begin, straightening your posture with brows knitting and expression hardening. “i won’t do tricks for you or kneel. i will do what this job entails, advise and protect but i will not be your little pet as all those who work beneath you are.” you finish without being subtle in your glances to the men that stand for intimidation behind you.

despite the flash of annoyance in his eyes, the marquis smiles with a deep exhale. it doesn’t reach his eyes. “why of course, mademoiselle.” slow steps come towards you. “this is a pleasant conclusion, i must say i expected a bit more resistance.” you reluctantly allow him to take your hand, he shakes it and you begrudgingly return the formality. “you will be phoned with all to come, i suggest you do not leave the continental. i will be seeing you tomorrow.” the marquis nods at you before releasing your hand.

that pleasant cologne fills your head, you turn and watch him walk away from you. his men follow and your brows furrow tightly, fists clenching at your sides but not allowing any frustration to release until he’s out of sight and ear.

“son of a bitch…” you groan beneath your breath while placing a hand over your eyes.

part two.

#marquis de gramont #vincent de gramont #marquis vincent de gramont #marquis de gramont x reader #vincent de gramont x reader #the marquis x reader #bill skarsgard x reader #bill skarsgård #bill skargard #john wick 4 #marquis vincent de gramont x reader

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