#neatly in one package? love that for me

[inavagrant-a]

My little nerdy mecha loving heart was over the moon when they gave Scaramouche his own mecha and how it devastates me that it was just a temporary thing and, in the bigger picture, not something good for him so getting rid of it was a must.

However.... ..I want my son to have something like that again so I will thin k up some sort of headcanon because he deserves it.

[breedbun]

info; Ayato x male reader, subbot male reader, topdom ayato, soft dom Ayato, ftm reader, reader is a doll made by shogun. reader has ball joints+long hair. kirara is mentioned briefly.

warnings; i mean, reader is technically a sex doll? anal, oral (ayato receiving), creampie, breeding, belly bulge, cum swallowing :3 cunt is used to describe reader

desc; i used this idea for a cai chat

Ayato wasn't expecting any mail today. So when a familiar nekomata youkai comes along, dragging an enormous human-sized box, tied with ribbons and held together tape. As Kirara placed an exquisitely qualified letter in his palm, she sighs, wiping sweat off her forehead. "Mister Ayato, I'm not sure what you bought, but it's really heavy! Nonetheless, be sure to give Komaniya Express a good review." She purred, giving him a thumbs up, before prancing away shortly after.

Ayaka wasn't home. Perhaps this was her mail? But what could she have possibly bought, for it to be this big?.. Upon checking the letter, he's bamboozled at the sight of his name scribbled neatly, and clearly on the front. "From Raiden Ei, Electro Archon, God of Eternity." ...What the hell? He understands small gifts every now and then for his accomplishments as the head of the Kamisato Clan, and as the Yashiro Commissioner.. but this? This felt almost too much. Why, and when did the Raiden Shogun decide to gift him such a large present?

Besides the initial confusion, he pushes the box a little deeper into his warm-toned home, tearing open the delicate ribbons and sticky tape. The moment he got the outer packaging off, the inside of the box was a Japanese-style presentation.. with a doll inside. A lovely, youthful young man, with gorgeous hair reaching to the back of his knees. All he wore was a plain, white dress shirt, tied to the box with zipties. Stunned, perhaps even embarrassed, his face flushes a persimmon red. It takes him a moment to fully process what the hell Her Excellency has just sent him, because this was certainly not a regular gift.

It wasn't long after you woke up, and scanned your surroundings.. did he realize what you were. A doll, for his pleasure, at his disposal.

Ayato smiled, as he'd press your face further down onto his crotch. He didn't know the Raiden Shogun could make such realistic puppets, one with a warm and wet mouth, coating his cock with saliva. You obediently bobbed your head up and down, licking and sucking, looking up every few moments for Ayato's eyes to meet back with yours. Tilting your head every few minutes, you'd lick in an upwards direction, before Ayato forces you to deepthroat him again with a loud moan.

He'd cum in your mouth, sticky and white fluid spurting onto your tongue with a satisfying groan. Before you could swallow his seed, he stops you.. to tilt your head up. "Don't swallow yet, darling. Look at me, mouth open." His words do not go unnoticed. Upon opening your mouth again, the sticky liquid stretches from the roof of your mouth to your soft, wet tongue. He chuckles, though you could hear his unsteady heavy breaths under his composure.

Once he pulls you off his cock lovingly, he gently carries you up and places you on the bed as if you weighed no more than a feather. Turning you flat on your stomach, you squeak as he combs his fingers through your long, long hair. Brushing it aside, you feel his hands trail down from the sides of your waist, down to cup your ass lovingly. "Such realistic flesh. Her Excellency must've put lots of effort into crafting you for me.." He grips your ass, spreading them apart, much like one would spread a feast.

You lightly sway and kick your legs, feeling unfamiliar excitement shoot up your soft body. Originally, you knew you had to follow a set of orders, and no emotions were to get in the way of your duty as a pretty little doll. That was all cast aside, the moment Ayato lined his tip to your tight rim, unsure if he was even able to fit into your body. Your doubts were eased, the moment he'd roughly squeeze his large into your surprisingly wet cunt. You let out an embarrassing loud mewl, tears brimming your eyes as he pulls out all the way to his tip.. then slams back right in. He groans, moans, and he even throws his head back while he fucked you into his expensive pillows. Drooling all over the pillow covers, your body malfunctions as shockwaves travels up your artificial spine. Every time he'd thrust into your pussy, you can hear his chuckle and laughs in between every whimper he let out through your fucked out brain.

As your tummy rubs against the exquisitely soft mattress, you sputter out another sound while your flesh clenches down hard on his dick, squirting out all the juices you never knew you had. Ayato even took the liberty of rubbing your knees and elbows, your ball joints, as if he knew these were sensitive from the beginning. "Ah, reading that manual just to make you shiver is so satisfying.." Caressing your body, the one an Archon carved for him, as you feel that hollow feeling in your body be filled up with his load yet again. Sure, all of it would definitely spill out the moment you stood up, but it wouldn't take long before he'd fill you up again with you sprawled over his bed, bent over his desk, or even sandwiched between him and a wall.

Lots of his undone fantasies, he can finally release them all into you. No need to find a mistress any longer, no need to worry about an heir. After all,

You had the ability to carry a baby.

BAH THIS WAS SO BAD IDK???

[2hightocare]

IN A WORLD OF BOYS, HE’S A GENTLEMAN

Synopsis: in which jungkook makes you realize a perfect man may exist…

Pairings: nonidol!jungkook x fem!reader

Genre: established relationship!

Warnings: pure on fluff, Jungkook being a gentleman, oc crying, gguks love language ‘gift giving’

Jungkook has always been a gentleman, following the sidewalk rule, opening doors, assisting his mom with groceries, and even pulling out chairs. He considers these actions the bare minimum.

When Jungkook met you, he found himself doing everything possible to make you happy. He started buying you flowers every other week after learning about your love for them and how your dad used to surprise you with bouquets as a little girl. Jungkook would research the meaning of each flower before showing up at your door with them, sometimes accompanied by your favorite coffee or snack.

The pink tulips Jungkook got you two days ago now sit beautifully in a vase on your vanity. "Care and good wishes, baby," he whispers the meaning of the flowers against your mouth, making you break into a big smile.

…

As an avid reader of romantic books, you would often find yourself on Jungkook's couch in your pajamas and fuzzy socks while he either slept or watched television with his head on your lap. He would playfully toy with your socks as you read, and your black-framed reading glasses would rest on your nose. "My glasses are so dirty, yuck," you scrunch your nose, cringing at their fogginess before taking them off.

“Give 'em to me," Jungkook says, raising his hand. You place the glasses in his open hand, and he uses the back of his shirt to carefully wipe them down.

These unasked-for gestures release a swarm of butterflies in your stomach, making your cheeks hurt from smiling. Most times, Jungkook doesn't even notice he's doing these things; they happen subconsciously. Like when he drops to his knees immediately upon noticing your untied shoes, tying them with bunny ears before creating a bow perfectly, not too tight or too loose, just as you like them. He then stands up, acting like nothing just happened.

You'd express gratitude often for everything he does, but he would consistently shut you up with a kiss, saying, "It's the bare minimum, baby. I wish I could do more."

During your girls' nights, your friends occasionally felt a twinge of envy as you recounted Jungkook's thoughtful gestures. You'd share how he bought all the books you had saved in your Barnes and Noble cart, leaving them outside your door along with a box of chocolate-covered strawberries.

Your sister, overwhelmed by jealousy, almost cried out, "Oh my god, when will I get myself a Jungkook!" she groaned into her hands, eliciting giggles from you and your mom. "No, seriously, like what the heck!" She continued, making you laugh even harder while recording her tiny tantrum on the phone you held in front of your face.

"Can I at least have one strawberry?" your sister muttered, creating a small window with her hands covering her face as she peeked through. Your mom burst into laughter, trying not to choke on the water she had just been drinking.

You quickly sent the video to Jungkook before admiring the stack of books wrapped in brown kraft paper, neatly held together by a pink ribbon. The thoughtfully arranged packaging made you reluctant to even open.

Jungkook had always claimed that his love language was gift-giving, using it as an excuse every time you told him to stop spending so much money on you. While he shook his head, saying, "I have the money," your boyfriend justified his actions, making you roll your eyes and then leave a big, fat kiss on his lips.

Reflecting on all the things Jungkook has done and continues to do for you warms your tummy and brings a smile to your face. Jungkook genuinely enjoyed performing these acts, from carrying you or swapping shoes when your feet hurt from your heels to taking off your makeup after you fell asleep with it on, and putting your phone to charge whenever you would forget to.

Your heart races every time you see him, a reminder of how effortlessly you fell in love with Jungkook. His encouraging words during testing week or on days when everything seemed to go wrong.

“What’s wrong, baby? Tell me, I’ll fix it,” he whispers, cupping your cheeks as tears continue to flow down your face.

His words only intensify your tears, causing Jungkook to panic. Not sure what to do, he holds onto you tightly, feeling the pain in his chest grow with each sniffle that escapes you.

“It’s so stupid—” you start to explain, flapping your hands around, only for Jungkook to gently cage them with his own.

“Hey, anything that makes you this upset is not stupid, baby,” Jungkook reassures, kissing your tear-stained cheek. Your hair and makeup are disheveled from crying, and your hand rubs your chest, hoping to take away the ache.

Jungkook watches your movements, sighing as he realizes he can't do anything to take away all your pain. God, how he wishes he could.

Since that day, you find solace in clinging onto Jungkook at every opportunity. His comforting touches, from light caresses to small kisses on your cheek or forehead, become your source of comfort. Each gesture makes you want to shower him with kisses.

…

“Do you want pasta and pizza?” he asks, reaching for a loose strand of your hair and securing it behind your ear before returning his attention to the menu. Leaving you looking at him with hearts in your eyes.

"Hmm," you hum as your head nestles into his shoulder, inhaling his scent. "Sleepy?" he asks, smiling down at you. "Nah," you giggle as he squeezes your thigh, your hand resting on top of his, barely covering half of it. "You should’ve brought jeans; you're freezing," Jungkook suggests, moving his hand up and down your bare thighs. "The skirt was too cute not to wear," you mumble into his shoulder.

"Super cute," he agrees, looking down at your black skirt before attempting to pull it down. "Too short, though," he continues, making you burst into laughter and swat his shoulder.

Jungkook watches your profile as you slurp on the pasta, a rush of love overwhelming him. He'd give you the stars and the moon you love so much without a second thought. He used to roll his eyes to the thought of love back then now, he found himself captivated by the girl with a white headband beside him, chuckling at every 'mmm' you let out when taking a bite.

"I love you," Jungkook says suddenly, making you look up with a mouth full of food. You tease, "Are you dying?" His smile widens, "No, I just wanted to tell you." Jungkook leans down, leaving a quick peck on your lips. Your eyes soften, "I love you."

Moments like this make you wonder: what were you doing without him in your life?

[legendary-pink-dot]

Please, Mr Postman

Pairing: Joel Miller x female reader

Rating: 18+ Explicit

Warnings: Unprotected PiV sex, butt play, creampie, oral (f receiving), and lots of sex toys. No ages mentioned or alluded to. Reader is married. There are themes of infidelity, blackmail and stalking, but Reader is fully consenting and willing. Mailman Joel is a sleaze, consider youself duly warned.

Word Count: 4.3K (by far the longest thing I've ever written, whew)

Summary: Every morning at 9am sharp, you take your coffee to the front room and listen for his mail truck.

Notes: Poking my nose out of my hiatus hidey-hole to write this as a gift for my very very dear friend @magpiepills for the prompt "Stole your mail and uses it to sexually blackmail you mailman Joel". I love you, my sweet Bat. 💜 Giant thanks to @for-a-longlongtime for the last-minute rapid beta read. Much love to my sluts for cheerleading: @youandmeand5bucks @exquisiteserotonin @arcanefox207 @sparklefarts38 @redhotkitchen I have never written Joel before, so please be kind. Thank you and enjoy.

Please, Mr Postman - Joel Miller x f!reader

Every morning at 9am sharp, you take your coffee to the front room and listen for his mail truck. The squeak of the rusted brake pads as he parks at the end of the block is a melody, as distinctive to you now as the chimes of the classic ice cream trucks from your childhood, eliciting a Pavlovian response of salivating over the treats it held within.

Life was easy and carefree at that age. You didn't have responsibilities, grown-up worries, or this present burden of being a Stepford wife to a rich man who occasionally did some illegal activities. He was kind to you and you loved him, desired him even, but despite being a criminal he was boring. He was not the adventurous, filthy man in bed you secretly hoped for. But you knew things about his work that made it dangerous to leave, and financially he made sure you were kept comfortable enough to not want to tell. So you stayed. And here you were, marooned in a leafy suburb, stuck at home all day and fantasizing about the hot new mailman. What a cliche you've become.

The mailman's name was Joel. And he really did command attention.

Salt and pepper hair that curled around the edge of his blue cap. Dark brown eyes that showed a few flecks of amber the rare times you've seen them up close. A strong nose with a neatly trimmed mustache and gorgeous facial scruff. Large hands that could football-hold an entire package in each.

And speaking of packages: his looked prodigious. It looked obscene what he was carrying around in those standard issue United States Postal Service shorts. You dreamed about it at night -- how thick his cock must be and how you'd lick it like those sweet summer popsicle treats -- as your husband snored beside you after giving you one pitiful orgasm and then immediately coming himself and falling asleep.

You never thought anyone could be attractive in such a dumpy grey uniform, but somehow Joel found a way.

In the summer heat he always rolled up the edges of his pleated shorts, a thick pocket chain clacking along his meaty thigh. Light hair dusted his tanned legs. His black leather belt was cinched tight, further emphasizing his delicious bulge. The sleeves of his polo shirt were similarly rolled and showed off well-toned forearms from all the lifting and carrying. In short: he was a dream.

But you'd never go further than look. You loved your husband, for all his faults. You'd even placed a big order of sex toys last week in the hopes he'd be willing to spice things up in the bedroom. The tracking app says it's out for delivery, and right on cue, Joel comes walking up your driveway cradling a large cardboard box in his hands. Damn, he looks good today.

"Mornin', ma'am," he drawls politely. You think he winks at you, or maybe it's just the sun hitting his eyes. "Got a big one for you today."

You move to take it, but he shakes his head. "It's heavy. Let me put it inside for ya."

The thought of him being inside your home makes you tingle. You don't even think to consider that postal workers aren't supposed to go past a customer's front step.

You hold the door open and Joel stomps through, leaving bootprints of dirt on your "Home Sweet Home" welcome mat.

"Ma'am? Where d'ya want it?" He sounds amused, and you realize with a start that he's been standing in your entranceway for an awkward length of time. You'd been too busy ogling his legs, and more, in those rolled-up shorts. Was it your imagination, or was he not wearing underwear?

"On the coffee table, please." You lead him to the sitting room beside the entranceway. It's your happy place, your sanctuary, the spot you have your morning coffee in as you listen for the siren song of his mail truck.

Joel gently places the box on the coffee table and turns to you.

"I'll just wait here while you check that everythin's in order."

"What… what do you mean?" You feel your cheeks heat. Fortunately the box was nondescript, but it did give off a brown paper wrapping porn vibe.

"It's insured for $700. Must be some expensive stuff. 'S my job to write a report if anything's broken."

Nervous sweat starts beading down your back. "It… it's okay… I can report online if there's a problem…"

"'S no trouble. Let's just take a quick peek." Joel's already pulled his keychain ceramic boxknife out of his shorts, slitting the box open before you can say a word.

You stand there mortified and unable to speak as Joel opens the flaps, pushes aside the cushioning packets, and stares at the huge assortment of boxed sex toys.

"Well, well, darlin'. What do we have here?" His voice is a mixture of amusement and something deep and growling. Predatory.

Your face burns in embarrassment. "You… you can go now," you manage to squeak. "Please."

"Don't think so, sweetheart. Gotta check that everythin's in good working order." His boxknife shicks open the first product, a G-spot vibe from the looks of the box. Just before he can unwrap it, you find your voice. You hope you sound self-assured and assertive.

"That's enough. Please leave. My husband will be home any minute."

Joel smirks as he continues to rifle through the box. "Naw. He won't. Just did my route on Pine Street and saw him gettin' busy with that blonde divorcee in the cul-de-sac. Miz Perkins, wasn't it? Big tits."

It's a gut punch, and it makes you forget that this suddenly skeezy mailman is in your home and looking at your new collection of sex toys. An affair? He wouldn't. Not YOUR husband. Not your husband who rarely wants to do anything interesting in bed…

"Sorry, darlin." Joel pulls you out of your thoughts. "Fuck that guy. Wanna have some fun?" He pulls the vibe out of the box and waves it in front of you with a lopsided smirk.

This is too much to deal with. Your head is spinning, a mixture of emotions running through you. Including lust, incredibly enough. This mailman appears to be the take-charge dominant you wish your husband was.

"No. Like I said, you can leave now." You manage to say it firmer this time despite the gushing between your thighs. "Just go."

"Think I'll stay," he says, crossing the space between you in one step and pushing you backwards onto the sofa. "Don't want me reporting your ol' man to the authorities, now do ya?"

"Wha… what?"

He chuckles at your comically large-eyed look of shock. "Yeah, know all about it. Been readin' yer mail," he says matter-of-factly. "He's shit at covering his tracks. Who sends fake invoices through the mail? With his real address too. Amazin' he hasn't been caught yet."

"You've been reading our mail?! I should report you!" Who is this guy?

Joel looms menacingly over your prone figure. You didn't dare move. "Sure, darlin. Postal employees got a responsibility to report crime. I'll be fine," he smiles, leaning back a little, but not enough for you to escape. "But the Postmaster General don't take too kindly to mail fraud, or those aidin' and abettin'. That's a felony."

"But it's not a felony for a mailman to read people's mail?"

"Tell you what," he drawls, still in that matter-of-fact tone that should be so very wrong in this situation. He rifles through the box and pulls out a hot pink butt plug, wiggling it at you. "You're gonna let me try out some of these toys on ya, and I won't report him."

Blackmail shouldn't turn you on, shouldn't turn anyone on, but it does. You're only human, and besides, you definitely don't want to go to prison. You can't control your reaction as your upper half shrinks back into the sofa while your lower half stretches out towards Joel, the hem of your sundress hiking up like it has a mind of its own. He gives you a wolfish grin and rests a broad, heavy hand on your knee.

"Jus' what I thought, sweetheart. Seen you watchin' me out the window every mornin'. You been wantin' me to stuff your pretty little mailslot, haven't ya?"

A whimper escapes your throat. "Yes. Please," you whisper, thighs sticky between your panties and suddenly aching.

"Okay, honey. Gonna start easy with this lil' thing." He holds up a clit sucker, shaped like a penguin with a little pink bow around its neck, and switches it on to test it. It springs into life immediately. "Ah, great. Love how companies pre-charge things now-a-days."

How can he be so conversational about this? Does he blackmail all the married women in the neighbourhood? Well, maybe just the ones who have something to hide. Like you. You silently thank the heavens for sending you an attractive skeeze, at least. And Joel is so very, very attractive.

You spread your legs for him.

He ruches your sundress up your thighs and whistles appreciatively, the sound going straight to your core. "No panties? And gushin' out of that tight little snatch already? Didn't take ya for such a filthy girl."

"It's… it's hot out," you stammer, unable to think straight.

"About to get hotter," he smirks again, and damn that attitude is doing things for you. "You ready, sweetheart?"

You nod, and he keeps eye contact as he nestles your clit into the little penguin's mouth and switches it on.

Your back arches and you nearly scream out loud.

The sensation is warm, and there's no direct contact but it's like your clit is being gently suckled. You've never felt anything like it. It's only been three seconds and your hips are already squirming to chase more.

His hand presses lightly on your hip to give you something to brace against as he clicks the intensity button up a couple notches, and it's like waves upon waves of the absolute perfect pressure on your clit. The buildup in your core is so fast that you don't even realize you're coming until it's almost over. You also hadn't noticed that you'd grabbed his muscled forearm and sunk your nails into it, leaving little half-moon indentations in his tanned skin.

"That was… wow." Your gasps echo around the quiet sitting room. Joel doesn't say a word, just reverently watches your pussy pulse and gush out a few drops of slick. "Thanks." You wish it had lasted longer and were sad it was over. Oh well, a nice memory for the next time you think about Joel, or try out some of these toys with your husband.

You start to push your sundress down, assuming he'll leave now and half-grateful for it, but he grabs your shoulder and forces you back down into the pillows.

"Where you off to? I'm just gettin' started with you, darlin'."

"But…."

"But nothin'. Ain't done till I say so."

All you can do is stare at him, unsure if you should be angry, turned on, or plotting an escape.

He undoes his leather belt and slowly, threateningly, slides it out through the loops on his uniform shorts. "Don't make me use this, sweetheart. Gonna be a good girl for me now, ain't ya?" The depth and tone of his voice say he isn't joking.

You gulp, still tingly from your rapid orgasm. And ready for another one, you think as you make eye contact with Joel, feeling a bit bolder now. We're here, I let him do that much already, might as well go for it.…

The penguin gets discarded as Joel carelessly tosses it to the carpet and takes the hot pink butt plug out of the box again, running a finger along the curve of its long but slim length. "Hmmm. Pretty. This for you, or your husband?"

"Uh… me…"

"Ah, ah" he tuts. "You really are a nasty girl. You take one of these before?"

You shake your head, suddenly shy. You hadn't even wanted your husband to know about the butt plug, thinking he was so sexless that he'd be disgusted. Apparently not, if he's railing Ms Perkins with the big tits over on Pine Street.

"S'okay. Gonna slide it in real good for ya." While you shove a little sofa pillow under your hips, Joel combs through the box on the coffee table and pulls out a bottle of lube. He pops the cap and drizzles some over the plug, and you gulp again imagining it inside your ass. A faint scent of synthetic vanilla fills the air and for some reason it calms you, allowing you to relax your muscles as Joel slides the plug along your crack, rubbing and smearing the lube around your asshole.

"You like that?"

You do. You really do.

Your little moan spurs him on and he gently presses the generously lubed tip of the plug against your hole, just the teensiest bit. You look up at his face, that stupidly attractive face of a skeezy mailman who is sexually blackmailing you, and find yourself desperately wanting to feel his scruff on your inner thighs.

Apparently he's a mind reader, too. He smiles and lowers his head to your crotch, and licks your clit with his wide tongue at the same moment he presses a bit more of the plug into your ass. You nearly scream for the second time in minutes.

"That's it, honey," he breathes against your core, wiggling the tip of the plug in and out and hitting nerves you didn't even know existed back there, making your hips jump involuntarily. "Openin' up so nice for me."

A few more mind-numbing, distracting licks of your clit and the plug slides all the way in with a little pop. You're equal parts turned on and proud.

"Well, ain't that a pretty sight," Joel whistles appreciatively. He pulls up to sit back and just stares at you all spread out on the sofa with one leg hiked over the back, your sundress balled up over your stomach. He taps the pink flared base of the plug a few times like he's idly flicking away a cigarette. It wiggles inside you and you squirm and squeal. Actually squeal. You're still mad and weirded out and other things, but you're feeling too good to give up now and you're starting to not care how easily you're caving to this man.

"Lessee what other treats we got in here." He rifles through the box again. His face falls into a comical droop of sadness and he sighs loudly, holding up a little box marked 'Girth Extender Sleeve'.

"Oh, sweetheart. I'm so sorry." The condescension in his voice shouldn't turn you on this much. "Yer old man got a tiny dick? Not fuckin' you proper? No wonder you been starin' at me every day, desperate for a real man."

Before you can protest -- he's not tiny, I just wanted to spice things up, well okay maybe he could use a bit of help -- he unzips his uniform shorts and pulls out his hard cock, holding it at the base so you can take a good look. "Got a special delivery for ya, baby."

Yeah, Joel definitely doesn't need any artificial enhancement.

His cock is thick. Not super long, but probably one of the thickest you've seen, outside the few porn films you watched when you were younger and more uninhibited. There's foreskin covering what looks like a large mushroom head, and a prominent pulsing vein running up one side. It all looks delicious, and you unconsciously lick your lips as he smirks at how you take it all in.

"You want it real bad, dontcha?" He fists himself a few times, his foreskin sliding on the downstroke to give you a peek at the thick head. "Yeah, you sure do. Never knew I had such a little slut livin' on my route."

Shuffling forward, he grabs your thighs and spreads them wider. The head of his cock feels impossibly heavy as he slaps it on your clit, making you gush a little with every hit.

"Joel, will you… can you lick me again for a bit?" Your squeaky voice is impossibly needy and pathetic.

"Naw," he says, flicking the base of the butt plug again and making your hips jump. The plug was so comfortable that you'd already forgotten it was in there. "Gotta finish my route. Can't talk to customers with my face smellin' of pussy, ya know. I'm representin' the United States Postal Service out there."

"Oh, does the USPS regularly fuck its customers too?"

"Sure does, darlin'. Bends 'em over and gives it to 'em hard with the price hikes every year."

He roughly pulls you up and bends you over the sofa arm, positioning you like the personal little fuckdoll you are for him.

"Got the next best thing though." He slips on a tiny purple fingertip vibe, your free gift from the toy company for such a large order. With such thick fingers, it looks like he's wearing an upside-down Ring Pop. It gives a loud rumble when he switches it on, and he laughs as he tugs his shorts down over his thighs. "Cheap ass shit. Hope the battery lasts. But it don't take you long anyway, right sweetheart?" He reaches around your hips, lifts your sundress and presses the vibe straight on your bare clit without any preamble, and your hips slam backwards into his crotch as you scream again, his cock jostling the base of the butt plug and sending shockwaves both up and down your core at the same time.

"Yeah. Thought so."

Amid the mixed sensations suddenly comes a new one: the thick head of his cock slipping into your cunt as he swirls the vibe around your clit, not letting it rest in any one spot long enough for your liking.

"… Wait! No condom?"

"Naw. You're on the pill, right?" He doesn't wait for your answer, as if he already knows.

Normally you don't enjoy this position but you're too far gone now, pushing your hips back and encouraging him deeper in, more than wet enough from all the playing to take him in.

"Greedy little slut, ain't ya?" He feeds you another inch, pauses, then another, torturously slow as you stretch around his thickness. "Tight little snatch feels so good. Miz Perkins with the big tits probably don't feel this sweet." Joel demeaning your husband like this and throwing the adultery in your face should make you mad -- at both of them -- but it only turns you on more, beads of sweat dripping down your spine as he slides all the way in to the hilt, giving you a few moments of grace to adjust to the size of him.

One strap falls down your shoulder, letting your tit pop out of your sundress and he palms it roughly, giving it an exploratory squeeze. The finger vibe is still buzzing and he swipes it across your nipple, the nubby texture chafing just before the point of pain. "Nice. You like that? Let's add somethin'."

Mentholated 'arousal balm' was another of your free gifts, and not something you'd ever thought to try. Joel twists open the little tin and dips the finger vibe in it.

"That smells strong, do we have to?" Wooziness hits you as the peppermint smell goes straight up your nostrils.

"Like I said, baby, gotta make sure everythin' works. Else I gotta do a return," chides Joel, tossing the tiny tin on the floor. You watch it roll under the baseboard heater as he grabs your hips roughly and repositions you. "Real fucking pain, returns. Lotsa paperwork."

He brings the now-mentholated finger vibe back to your clit, and two seconds later it feels like your entire pussy is on fire.

Thank goodness he didn't put any on my a--

Joel moves the base of the butt plug aside and presses the finger vibe against your asshole.

The menthol soaks into your tender membranes and it's so, so cold and hot at the same time. Your brain melts along with it.

Everything is lit up now and you squirm as he slides his hardness back into your pussy and gives a few experimental thrusts. "Tight fuckin' snatch," he mutters, your walls clenching around him in time with his finger flicking at the plug, your entire lower half burning but not in a terrible way. "But could be tighter." He suddenly pulls his cock out and you whine, loudly and needily.

"Please, Joel."

"Please what, darlin'?"

"Put… put it back in? Please."

"All in good time. Gotta give those walls an extra little stamp."

You look over your shoulder to see him drizzling lube into the girth sleeve and slipping it onto his cock. He's already so thick that it's a tight fit, the soft tube slipping off a couple times before he finally stretches it enough so it can slide all the way on, pulling it down so his large head pokes out of the top. You clench involuntarily.

"Umm. That's not gonna fit."

"Sure it will, honey," he drawls. "Didn't think you could take that pretty little pink plug, right? And look at ya now."

He's got a point.

"Gonna stuff that little slot full to the brim and turn ya into a size queen. Open wide, baby."

He's merciless as he slides back inside, at a curved angle since you're turned slightly to brace both your hands against the back of the sofa. The extender is smooth and feels just like his skin, and you're powerless to resist the incredible feeling of the extra width. He was exactly right: you felt full. With the thick pressure in your cunt pushing against the plug in your ass, you felt more stuffed than you ever had in your life, and what's more your pussy is still burning from the menthol balm. It was overwhelming but also glorious. In that second you knew it would be impossible not to think of Joel next time your husband fucked you, even if he wore this toy. Stupid sexy blackmailing mailman.

Baby animals had more stability in their legs than you do right now, your thighs spasming uncontrollably as Joel palms the vibe around your clit while holding almost half your waist in the span of his other large paw. He fucks into you hard from behind until you're so close to coming you can taste it. With the extender, his cock is hitting spots inside you that you didn't even know you had. A heavy chain pops out of the neck of his polo shirt and hits your nape with a loud clank as he slams into you from behind, the cheap poly-rayon blend of his polo shirt chafing your shoulders in a delicious burn as his chest presses close against your back and his hips smack against your ass, jostling the butt plug with every thrust.

whirrrrrr goes the finger vibe as the tiny cheap battery dies, and he slaps your clit hard with the vibe one, two, three times and you come, yelling for the nth time since he left his bootprints on your welcome mat that morning. His grunts are loud and lewd as he fucks you through it, easing up only to make his thrusts shallower so he can reach a hand between you and gently pull out the butt plug with a little 'pop'. He tosses it and the finger vibe onto your pristine off-white carpet, not even bothering to aim for the opened box on the coffee table.

"So fuckin' tight," he wheezes hoarsely, "I gotta extra big load for ya," and he presses his hips so hard against your ass that you almost fall over the sofa arm, his voice faltering as he groans and you feel hot spurts of his come coating the inside of your pussy, as deep as he can put it.

You slump forward onto the sofa and he pulls out, both of you heaving. The fiery balm has mellowed to a gentle tingle and your core is pleasantly warm. Stretched out. Fucked out.

"Welp, gotta get back to my route." It's been only a minute and his matter-of-fact conversational tone has already returned. You peer over your shoulder and watch him pull his shorts back on, rolling up the hems and slicking his belt back into the loops, tucking his polo shirt back in with practiced efficiency.

"Will I see you again?" You hate how pathetic you sound, and you must be a real sight too, half naked with a sweaty rolled-up sundress stuck to your back, your ass still up in the air like you're waiting for him to stick it right back in and rail you again immediately.

"Oh, I'm sure we'll be seein' each other again real soon," he says smoothly.

As you stand up, knees a little weak, a drop of cum drips down your thighs. "Glad I'm on the pill," you mutter to yourself as you pat down your wrinkled sundress and pause at the mess of packaging and boxes littering your sitting room.

"About that, darlin'." Joel smiles, pausing by your front door. "Miz Perkins over on Pine Street orders sugar pills and well, you know, packages get mixed up sometimes on the route. Might wanna check you got the right pills."

Joel slams the door and the mail slot squeaks rhythmically as you stand there, horrified, listening to him whistle a jaunty tune as he walks down your driveway and back to his mail route.

[comfortless]

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.

[bonny-kookoo]

Jungkook

Fluttering [Teaser]

What will it take for him to finally get you to look his way for more than just a fleeting smile?

Tags/Warnings: kind of arrogant!Jungkook, Fboy!Jungkook turned devoted lover, Idol!Jungkook, angst, teasing, flirting, adult themes such as smut, JK being humbled

There is no taglist for this fic.

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So that's not enough, huh?

Everyone cracks at the prospect of expensive gifts at some point, and he knows this best. They all end up in his bed at the end of the day, even if they say they're not that kind of girl. Some neatly packed Dior packages sent to their door with a sweetly written card inside the boxes, and they usually all repay his kindness with time spent in his bed, gasping for air at his demonstration of his capabilities at being a lover worth his title.

He's a singer. A songwriter too, if he wants to be- so of course he can always find the right words to create a siren song tailored to anyone he'd love to have beneath him.

And he will find the right words for your ears too, sooner or later.

They all just want him to work for it, and he's willing because of course he is. He's not some kind of dumb boy who needs to persuade his victims into something they don't want- down the line, he only plays with the girls that willingly participate in the game of chase.

They all make the first step, after all. He's never the one to initiate- he doesn't have to. Which is why you're so confusing- giving him signals at first, just to back out later, shamelessly turning him down like you changed your mind.

But he knows you didn't. He's heard you talk to Jimin, has read the text you sent him last week about him. He's your type, and you're interested, surely- but not in what he typically offers.

You want something lasting. You want him to stay.

He's walking down the way he was told with confidence, well aware of how his body is shaped and proportioned. You've once compared him to one of the marble statues you saw at the Louvre museum in paris, back when you both didn't even know each other. He'd jokes that he's packing a lot more than those statues between his legs, trying to flirt in his usual boyish tone-

But you had just laughed. Nothing else. No shyness found in your face whatsoever.

So he bought you gifts he believed you'd like- but even then, after you had told him that he couldn't buy your affection with things like that, he'd apparently missed the mark and believed you were someone you're not. So he bit the bone, like a starving dog.

What does it take to get you to crack? How long can you keep this up?

You're standing with the staff next to the man with the dynamic camera, watching him, and it makes him feel some type of way he can't quite put his finger on. He's putting even me effort into this scene as he would typically- showing off not just his physique, but also his confidence in it, playing into it all with ease and full force. It's like he's dancing in the moment, with no one but time and the thought of you one day giving him the attention he so dearly craves.

His fingers tap over the piano keys so delicately that he hopes you can see the close up shot on the small screen of the camera next to you. It's with the same nature that he would touch you, for sure. He'd worship your body, treat it with hands soft and kind, if you want him to. Or he could be a little rough, and show you how it feels like to be played just like this instrument, where he taps the last key, fingers dancing.

They could do so much more to you, if you'd just let him.

And one look tells him that you're not watching the screen, but him- eye contact heated, but not from anger or shyness. No, that glimmer in your eyes tells him that he's finally caught your attention, finally you're looking at him with a similar sense of interest that he has inside his bones as well.

He's long lost interest in anyone else easily willing. He wants you.

He wants you to want him too. He wants to ruin you, wants to show you that there is no one else but him that has what it takes to be deserving to be at your side. It might've all begun with him just wanting to ruin you, hear you beg for him and fall for his pretty face like many others before-

But by now, he just wants you, seven days a week, every hour of the day if he can. Devotion to one single thing has never been easy for him, interests changing and switching all the time like channels on a TV whenever there's nothing good to watch. But you? You’re his first constant. Never changing. A craving never satisfied by anything else. A thought he can't push from his mind.

You think he can't devote himself to you, can't turn only to you, and be loyal. And of course, his past behavior does not really support his claim he made towards you that he could do just that- but he wants to at least try. he knows he can do it, if you were to just let him show you how deep his devotion can run if he was given the chance. You're just what he wants, every minute spent together no time wasted in his eyes, even if you just sit in silence.

He wants you.

He wants to have your heart fluttering just like you cause his to do the same.

[himegureisu]

The Gift

Summary: Out of nowhere, your husband receives a gift from you.

A/N: This came to me last night after thinking of what type of mail people receive. Here's one I hope you enjoy.

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

The Owl Postal Service in Hogwarts was, if not, consistent in their delivery time.

This time being, the hour after breakfast started for everyone to ensure that no disruptions, except important missives, were to be received during class hours.

Your tawny barn owl sailed through the Great Hall, over the heads of students and staff, and landed on the High Table in front of its’ intended recipient, your husband, their dark and grumpy Potions Professor, Severus Snape.

It was uncommon for the Potions’ Professor to receive anything but Potions’ ingredients, his usual Potions’ Journal subscription, or official mail either from the Ministry or the Order so the package, a neatly wrapped gift in royal green paper, silver ribbon, and a tag attached, accompanied by a letter in your distinct handwriting was bound to attract attention.

“Is there a special occasion?” the Headmaster’s eyes twinkled upon the sight of the young Potions’ Master quite confused,

“No,” Severus answered, “Not that I know of,”

His thoughts a mile a minute through his brain, slowly, internally panicking. His eyes locked at the present in front of him. Did he forget YOUR birthday? God no, you’d thoroughly celebrated every time the day came around. Did he forget his birthday? Did he forget an anniversary? Did he forget a muggle holiday that you loved to celebrate? No, so what was this doing here?

“It’s wrapped beautifully,” Minerva remarked, from across Dumbledore, “Will you open it?”

He does. First, the letter.

“Sev,” your voice echoed through his brain, “I know you’re probably trying to think of any reason why I would send a gift to you on a normal day.”

You know him far too well.

“Just stop. Do I need a reason to send a gift to the one I love when I feel like it?” a soft smile slowly formed on his lips as he read that line, his colleagues’ interest piqued at the change, “It’s from our holiday and other events, I hope you like it. I know I did. I love you, I’ll see you when I get home,”

Your letter was swiftly tucked in his robes after then taking the package from your owl. Severus proffered a treat for them, and they happily ate before it perched itself on his shoulder. His hands gently tugged on the silver to unwrap the gift.

His initials and yours, on the cover of a leather-bound enchanted photo album.

On the first page of your story, the title page, if the album was a muggle document, was a candid photo from your most recent vacation. Your arms wrapped around his. His figure was behind yours in a hug. Your faces were engulfed in laughter after a guide failed to land a joke against him.

“Oh,” Severus whispered, Your gift was amazing. How did he get so lucky to deserve you?

“That’s a rare sight,” Filius said, by his right, “Severus smiling and speechless,”

“She’s beautiful, Severus,” Albus complimented,

“We look forward to meeting her,” Minerva said,

Their words fell on deaf ears.

Beneath the photo album, in a frame, there was another photo of the both of you from afar. This moment was captured by a charmed camera that you didn’t even know was there until after it happened. In the wilds of Wizarding Britain, on your first date, underneath the stars, he’d kissed the back of your hand, admitted his affections, and asked if he could kiss you. To which you shyly agreed, and received the sweetest kiss you’d ever experienced.

This he could place on his desk. The others were not up for public consumption.

“If you’ll excuse me, Professors, I must send a response,”

[onmyyan]

So I'm imagining a bit of a silly concept, but imagine delivery driver!reader with yanderes Dick and Jason. Like they'll keep ordering from the place reader works in hopes that reader will show up (and she will - your boss got fed up with all the 1 star reviews when anyone other than you shows up) but they act like creeps trying to get you to join in on their movie night or whatever. They totally don't realize they're being creeps, though - this is their darling! They would never scare her! But like reader gets fed up with them "propositioning" her so she has her boss put them on the do not deliver list. The boys are surprised (they knew her boss was sending all those other drivers on purpose! 🙄), but it's nothing a call to Barbara can't fix (she wants to be an Auntie ASAP - platonic yan Barbara, perhaps?)

It starts with a simple delivery to Wayne Manor, one insignificant package set their sights on you, but could you blame them? That smile when you handed Dick the package, the pretty laugh you let out when Jason said something witty, it wasn't their fault you enamored them with a single meeting, and it didn't help when you delivered their second package, about a week after the first, and remember their names, the audacity to do such a thing and not expect them to fall in love.

Anytime someone other than you shows up they're met with the coldest glares, Dick is short with them, no banter no charm, Jason straight up doesn't speak to anyone that isn't you.

They don't start to get creepy until about week three, that's how long their resolve lasts before Dick is inviting you in for a drink, you must be hot in that uniform of yours, why don't you come inside? It's cool in the manor and he's sure your boss wouldn't miss you for a few minutes.

Jason, to his credit, really does try to be casual about his interest, of course it's anything but casual, he pretends to be working on his bike when you come to get his signature, purposely showing off as he takes his time signing, intense blue eyes staring at you with an intensity that made you sweat. He says a pretty girl like you shouldn't have to work so hard, that you should have someone to take care of you, you grit your teeth biting out a smile as you snatch the tablet back as soon as he finishes signing.

It isn't until your latest delivery do you put them on the do not deliver list, as usual they were together when you rang the doorbell, Dick smiles so brightly at you, you'd think you were delivering the stars in a neatly wrapped box. "Hey (y/n)!" He greets you like a long time friend instead of someone you'd only spoken to a handful of times, "You mind bringing that inside?" He asks the question and despite its oddity, you comply bringing the package inside.

Jason closes the door behind you, causing you to jump, when the hell did he get here?

"Good to see you bunny." He was always calling you pet names, far too intimate for your liking, he smirks before taking the box from your hands, his fingers purposely brushing against yours. "You're like a little messenger fairy."

You choose to ignore him, turning to Dick, you hold out the tablet for him to sign. "We'll get to that in a minute- why don't you sit down for a sec?" He sits on the couch patting the spot beside him. "I gotta get back to my route-"

"it's midnight, you guys stop delivering after midnight right?" Jason speaks up causing you to look at him, he looks way too satisfied with himself, catching you in a lie. Feeling trapped you sit on the couch reluctantly. "What's up?" You ask looking between the two, Jason remains standing his beefy arms crossed across his chest. God he made you uneasy.

"we've noticed how hard you've been working lately and since we're friends-" you don't hide the confusion on your face at the proclamation, "-We figured you could use a break." Dick spoke almost as if he was nervous. "Come on bunny, take a load off." Jason finally sat down sandwiching you between the two.

"or- and hear me out on this one, you sign for your package and I leave?" They share a look before Dick is almost sadly signing the tablet. "Well if you ever wanna just chill or something-"

You don't hesitate you leap off the couch and run out the door, heart slamming so hard in your chest you felt the rumble in your throat.

You thought you'd be done with them after putting their names on your company's do not deliver list, and for about a week you are, until they realize what's going on and collectively lose their minds.

Barbara couldn't stand seeing two of her closest friends so down, so unlike themselves, once they explain the situation to her she's quick to act, understanding their... particular intensity when it came to love, and clearly you'd stolen their hearts, she couldn't stand to see them so upset so she quickly devizes a plan to get you back where you belong.

All it takes is hacking into your company's files to find your route and schedule, it's like child's play to her to set up the meeting, she ordered a shit ton of stuff all for you unbeknownst to you of course, all items you'd need for your upcoming vacation, Bruce had a few private islands for situations just like this one, and it be the perfect place for Dick and Jason to break you in. By the time you left the little slice of paradise, you'd be a perfect little darling.

With a smile too pretty for her deeds, she presses confirm on the order and sends a text to the guys.

"Your Darling is approaching with your order."

[staryuee]

Hii friend <3

I dont know really know if requests are still open but i wanted to ask if you could do any genshin characters with a rude s/o?

If not you're always aloud to delete the request :)

HOW YOU MAD AT ME, ‘CUZ I’M CUNT, BITCH?

꒰warnings꒱ cursing…obviously LOL

⠀꒲ ` synopsis . . . you wouldn’t call yourself rude just…”free-spirited” and liberal in your word choices~! ^_−☆

⠀꒲ ` characters . . . eula, xiao, thoma, ei, furina, navia, wriothesley

⠀꒲ ` notes . . . if i had a victorian era shilling for the amount of times my friend has called me rude after i’ve made a comment about something i would be the next ebenezer scrooge (⊙_⊙)

EULA — 优菈

now while eula would normally abhor at the foul language and insults that so easily spew from your precious lips, she actually can’t help but be oddly bemused.

i mean her expectations for linguistics are awfully high, one mustn’t speak with little eloquence but your brashness was oddly…charming, and refreshing in a way. you weren’t afraid to offend people, and simply enjoyed the motto of “i won’t apologise for what i said, i’ll apologise for how it made you feel.”

eula is of course someone who’s treated like the poster-woman for the concept of rudeness given her past and current feigned ego, so honestly you sort of make her feel better about herself — not in a negative way, in the way that she just simply doesn’t feel that lonely anymore.

if anyone has so much as a word to speak against you due to something you’ve said, they can speak to her first. the entirety of teyvat is allowed to shudder if she so much as so breathes, but when it comes to you? vengeance will be severed with a side of wine.

XIAO — 魈

stop. please. xiao is already overwhelmed enough by the varieties of his duties, all his patrolling — and now he has to make sure his lover isn’t in an argument with someone or being threatened to literal death.

he frankly doesn’t really care about the way you speak, sure it’s surprising at first since the majority of people in liyue hold themselves in a way that seems a bit more…calm, but then again sometimes that within itself can be seen as a rude attempt at pacification of genuine feelings.

you’ve never been mean or rude to him, directly at least, so he literally doesn’t care how brutal or venomous your words are, so long as you don’t get yourself in too much trouble. people haven’t seen the yaksha so an edge whenever a person opens their mouth since, well, ever.

he’s never brought up your attitude or personality; he loves you wholly, even if some parts of you are a bit more prickly than rosy.

THOMA — 托马

“haha, they were just joking!” you ticked off another five on your little notepad with a careful swoosh of your pen.

thoma has had to repeat that very phrase so much to the point you’ve been keeping a safe tally on a notepad of whenever he says it. to be honest, you don’t even believe five can be multiplied this many times…

your rudeness and foul language comes as an innate package, and thoma has no problem in neatly tying that package up with a little bow to placate whoever you managed to horribly offend that day. you fear that one day, if thoma isn’t there, you’ll find yourself being interrogated by kujo sara, maybe in a more lucky scenario heizou, herself.

“thoma can you do this f—“

“no.”

“i— wasn’t asking you??”

“you didn’t need to, now fuck off (๑･̑◡･̑๑). don’t be incompetent and you wouldn’t have to ask someone else to constantly do shit for you.”

RAIDEN EI — 影

if not directed to herself directly, she finds you absolutely amusing. she literally cannot be a spokesperson against rudeness after her uhum many self-made and self-fulfilled tragedies, plus she herself can be rather verbally off putting therefore, she has little problems with how you address others.

she does, however, keep a very keen eye on you to make sure you don’t stir up trouble with the wrong crowd.

but, hey! the great thing about dating a highly revered archon is the fact literally no-one will speak out against you.

“[name] told me to kill myself when i said hi in the morning…” and guess what? all of a sudden they have a long voyage to the fiery volcanoes of natlan planned out. criticism is only allowed if it’s aimed at her, not you — you’re basically an extension of her, if anyone so much so demeans you because of your attitude, it’s almost like they’re disrespecting the electro archon herself.

that’s a crime the citizens of inazuma have long learned the lesson of.

FURINA — 芙宁娜

she loves you purely for the theatrics and dramatics you always managed to find yourself in. it always seems like drama follows you wherever you simply step — and hey, she’s an actress, it’s no wonder she’s so easily charmed and swayed with the way your voice rings out blunt responses like it were second nature.

and to be fair, she’s a massive instigator of conflict. on the sidelines of course. so when you perhaps “accidentally” rub someone the wrong way, she can’t help but use sarcasm to throw fuel into the fire and watch the hellish flames burn as she kicks back with a cup of tea and a slice of cake (you know, like a true mirror to marie antoinette)

i think your duo would be even funnier and more undoubtedly chaotic if you have british humour and or slang equipped because let’s be so real if this was modern furina would force neuvillette to act like her roadman guard-dog while she sold 50p sweets during break time to the year 8s. throw in a little “yute” or “op” and she has heart eyes all over you (i promise this is all for the sake of comedy…)

NAVIA — 娜维娅

the best part of being in a relationship is being able to chat shit about anyone and everything, because well, you’re each-other’s everything already, why rely on the kindness of strangers for validation?

you and navia do the thing where you’ll subconsciously glance at each-other from the corners of your eyes when someone (or people) say some dumb silly shit. the problem being, neither of you can keep quiet and immediately will begin giggling and will make it inevitably worse by whispering to one another “stop!” and “don’t laugh—“ while holding your mouths to stifle yourselves.

this leads to people being rather nervous to speak to navia when you’re around. usually, navia is very friendly and softly spoken; often she’ll be a rather happy-go-lucky and caring girl who smiles no matter what — of course this doesn’t mean she’ll allow people to walk all over her, but hey she believes in second chances — but when you’re around…people will loiter around creepily before gathering the courage to ask for help or whatever they need.

navia is at heart however, a very loving and respectful person so she will remind you of when you’ve stepped out of line. sometimes rudeness is just an innate quality that people have and it’s sometimes not intended out of malice; even petty things like lateness or speaking out of turn counts as “rudeness”, and navia is here to either make excuses up for you or to defend you from criticism ☆〜（ゝ。∂）

WRIOTHESLEY — 莱欧斯利

oh he absolutely eats this shit up. every argument, insult, fight etcetera you’ve ever had is kept in a personal file somewhere in his cabinet just for memories sake. wriothesley’s life is already quite dramatic and hectic as it can be, the fortress of meropide could honestly sometimes be described as a form of circus within itself especially if you’re involved, but he revels in your antics nonetheless.

you’re literally so fucking hilarious, each time he hears those heavy doors heave open beneath him he just KNOWS shit has gone down and you’re about to dramatise it for him live.

you best believe he’s an instigator the same way furina is; whispering to you and then giggling when you use his encouragement as some sort of reference while you practically spit venom at the person who’s unfortunately become your centre of focus.

he won’t allow you to stir up too much trouble in the fortress of meropide but being his partner you get the perk of not getting into nearly as much trouble as you would if you were one of the criminals down in the fortress (unless you are then…well you’re special so it doesn’t matter!)

©STARYUEE do not copy, steal or repost ♡ ᴜsᴇᴅ ᴛᴏ ʙᴇ ɪʜᴇᴀʀᴛɢᴀɴʏᴜ

[giuliettagaltieri]

Breath of Spring

Pairing: Young!Gojō x Young!Reader

Chapter Synopsis: Emotional constipation was Gojō Satoru's congenital defect.

Warning: angst, unrequited love, suggested misogyny, arranged marriage, age gap

Word Count: 1060

1 of 9

Gojō Satoru has known you even before you knew how to walk.  He attended your naming day, he was already five years old then.  The memory is vague and blurred but he was certain of the strong feeling of dislike he had for you.  How is it that everybody was congratulating him, telling him that he is so lucky to be betrothed to you.  The well anticipated daughter of your family, one long awaited after having birthed with boys alone for nearly a decade.  But that does not have anything to do with him.  All you did was drool and suckle on your tiny fingers.

There was nothing particularly special about you, he comes to realize after you attended his 12th birthday.  It was a day he received many gifts, the wrapped packages piled so neatly in the corner by the handmaidens of the estate house.  He is not to touch any of them, lest some were sent by malevolent individuals who seek to bring harm to him and his family.  Not that he can’t see cursed material from a mile away but the elders of his house insisted.  He cannot complain either, it saved him from wearing fake smiles and throwing away forced gratitude.

It was why he was upset that his annual hunt had to come to a pause just so you could hand him your gift.  He eyed you with his much aggravation.  You are never without your nannies and personal guards, being sheltered from the world like a fragile little flower.  You were nearly half his age but you already act like an adult.  Like you were better than him.  It was as if your back had a rod with how straight it always appears to be, your chin always tilted upwards, and eyeing everyone as beneath you, how haughty.  It brought him great satisfaction to see you shy away from him though, your eyes always finding your dainty shoes whenever he is nearby.

Your handmaiden had to usher you forward so you would have the courage to hand him your gift.  The elders looked at his actions carefully, almost awaiting him to make a mistake just to have something to criticize him over.  He mutters a small “thanks”. And you nod at him and retreat back to the arms of your mother who was watching you with much fondness.

As he previously thought, you’re nothing different.  Just another puppet.

Gojō wasn’t in the mood for hunting afterwards.  Simply kicking rocks by the pond as his servitor accompanied him, standing a few meters behind him, still like a statue.

“The young master appears to be upset.”  The servitor says calmly, his voice even and unprovocative.  But young Gojō Satoru whips at him with so much fervor that the servitor nearly breaks into a smile.

“Upset?  For what reason?”  He scowls as he steps closer to the tall man.  He looks about ready to fight anything that moves, his face contorted to a wild scowl.  “Because of her?  That spoiled shrimp?  You think that pipsqueak is relevant enough to upset me?”

The servitor clears his throat to hide the smile as he closes his eyes.  “Perhaps the young master should be kinder to the young lady.” 

Gojō scoffs and looks at the tiny gift that he had in his clutches, never letting go of it ever since you handed it to him.  “Kinder?  She has done nothing but be a nuisance!”  In a fit of anger, he throws the carefully wrapped item to the ground.  A loud shatter of ceramics startles him, and the servitor flinches upon hearing the sound.  They both stare at the still wrapped gift, its shape no longer preserved and it looks nothing more than a heap of oddly shaped objects covered with the intricate fabric.

“Oh my.”  His servitor sighs, disappointed.  “What a shame, the lady was very excited to know how you liked her gift.”

Upon hearing this, Gojō raises his defenses, his teeth gritting as his cheeks flushed.  “You don’t have to do her biddings!”  Yet despite the outburst, the little boy’s eyes cannot leave the heap of your broken gift on the ground.  They have many talented craftsmen in the estate, it can be fixed, he is certain of it.  But then again, why does he need it fixed?  You’re insignificant, your gift is no different.

Or so he tries to convince himself.

His mood has not been better for the next few days.  He was cranky, snapping at anyone who looked his way for too long.  His father, ever so perceptive, asked young Satoru’s servitor about his dramatic, or at least worse than usual, turn of emotions. 

A day later, Satoru finds another wrapped gift atop his nightstand the moment he opens his eyes.  It was familiar, the shape of it.  When he reached for it, the weight of it was something his hand had known.  A small tag was attached and he read it, his still pouting lips moving as he read the words one by one.

To Gojō-sama.  Wishing you a fine day.

He knew the curve of your handwriting too well.  The frown in his brows deepened and deepened as he pulled the ribbon.  And the wrapping came undone and the ceramics figure of him and you, hands intertwined, stared back at him.

It was beautiful, smooth, and greatly detailed.  Even the clothes were made of the finest material.

But it was useless.  It was good to look at but there was no purpose to it. 

A knock in the door startles him, and he nearly drops the figure but he manages to grab hold of your foot, well the sculpture, he did not expect the dress to flip, showing him your bloomers.

Gojō twists the doll right-side up and pulls your dress down until it covers your ankles.  His face is bright red and warm.  It was simply too much for young Satoru.

“Young master, is everything alright?”  The door slid open a fraction but Gojō yelled for them to close it at once!

“Yes!  Everything is alright.”  His face was still aflamed as he clutched the dress tightly around your tiny body.

By the next day, you receive a bouquet of blue roses littered with baby’s breath accompanied by a poorly scribbled note of ‘Thanks’ from the young master of the Gojō estate.

Where the Blue Roses Grow

[thebestofoneshots]

Gilded Constellations | (wolfstar x reader)

Series Masterlist | Previous episode

Pairing: Wolfstar x Reader Word Count: 8.7 K Warnings: MAJOR ANGST / I’m about to angst you with an angst that you’ve never been angst with before. Prompt: Vixen believes she's in the middle, and she hates the idea of stopping any of her boys from being happy. This IS a Wolfstar x reader fic, but it's incredibly slow burn. They won't start all dating each other until we're very deep into the story, but I promise the long wait will be worth it

Chapter 53: Too Much Love Will KiII You

How would it be if you were standing in my shoes? Can't you see that it's impossible to choose No, there's no making sense of it Every way I go I'm bound to lose

The day went by as you’d expect. James didn’t take long to also walk upstairs and join the three of you in a poker game that Remus had taught you how to play. Cards weren’t that big in the wizarding world, especially not poker because of how easy they were to enchant and how hard they were to charmproof. But Remus had managed to charm his deck with a spell so riddled, it would take more time than the one you had in one game to actually crack it. 

Besides, neither you nor did any of the boys want to cheat. Not when poker was so godric damned entertaining, and certainly not with how fun it was to see Sirius lose to you, James and Remus all the time. He couldn’t bluff, even if he wanted to. 

It’s not that Sirius was a bad liar per se, in fact, if he played against anyone other than you three (even against Peter who had always been a little absent-minded) he would have easily tricked them, unfortunately for him, his two best friends and his girlfriend were too good at uncovering his inner intentions. 

It was in the little twitch of an eye, in the way he put effort into trying to maintain a straight face, in the way he would look you in the eye or avoid it. 

“Raise,” Sirius said and placed another sickle into the money cauldron you had placed on the bed. The four of you were sitting. James had pulled out a chair, Sirius was sitting by Remus and you were on the other side of the bed, where you made sure no one could see your cards.

You gave Remus a look, he shook his head. “I fold,” you said. 

“Me too,” James agreed, he hadn’t seen Remus and your interaction, Sirius’ face had been enough, he could almost smell the confidence oozing from his friend.

Sirius smiled as he brought down his cards, three Aces. It had been a brilliant move to call it, Remus had called earlier, since he’d gotten a meagre pair of threes, and you had two jacks, but there was nothing on the table to help you besides that. 

Sirius smiled and brought the money to his side, letting the little bronze coins twinkle and be a mess in his lap while Remus sighted. His and yours were neatly accommodated in stacks. “‘Nother round?” James asked as he munched on some popcorn that Mellie had brought. You had some chocolate on your lap and you opened the package. 

“Mhm,” you agreed, you were about to give a bite to your chocolate when Sirius leaned over Remus’ legs and beat you to it, “Oi!”

He turned to you with a pair of puppy eyes and a little pout. You sighed in disbelief and then he leaned over and pressed a short kiss to your lips before he pulled back. You were startled by his sudden action, and your eyes almost instantly turned to Remus, whose gaze was fixated on Sirius as he munched on the rest of the chocolate and picked up the cards to shuffle them. 

You swallowed, you hated the butterflies in your stomach because no matter how delighted Sirius’ kisses made you feel, you knew they were making your best friend upset. You bit your lip as you looked at them both, at the way Remus attentively looked at Sirius’s hands. It was easy to justify such a stare, he wanted to make sure Sirius wouldn’t cheat, but you knew the real reason behind it. Sirius had nice hands, you had stared at his hands before, and damn he was dexterous with them. 

“You’re doing it wrong,” James said, and took the cards from Sirius’ hands, Remus broke his stare and looked up almost nervously, meeting yours, you offered him a soft smile and turned to James who had made a mess of the cards. You bit your lip trying not to smile and picked Sirius’ wand from the side, waving it over the mess, the cards floated and then neatly arranged themselves on a stack. 

“Thanks, Vix,” he said, taking them in his hands before he proceeded to shuffle them. Once he was satisfied enough with the shuffling, he started to deal. You got a card first, then Sirius, he handed one to Remus and then he pressed one over his lap.

By the time James finished dealing the cards, you had already taken a look at your stack, and it took a great deal of effort not to let your eyes shine when he placed the first card from the stack onto the table. Good game. 

This one drew out for longer, either everyone else had a great stack, or they were bluffing, so you had to pay attention to them, James seemed slightly nervous when you raised for the third time, and he swallowed before placing money on the cauldron. Remus looked confident, but you’d recently gotten a lot better at reading him, and you didn’t think he actually had a great game. 

As for Sirius, the three of you already knew he was bluffing, which is why perhaps the two other boys were still raising you. Sirius had an overly confident smile on his face, but he had not stopped tapping his finger over his knee since James placed the second card on the table. You thought it was adorable that he hadn’t quite realised what he was doing yet either.

“Raise,” you said. 

Sirius placed more money on the centre along with Remus and you. James called at that point, not revealing his game yet, but placing his cards on the bed with a rather defeated air as he grabbed a fist of popcorn and brought it to his face. 

Remus raised along with you. Sirius threw a nervous look at you, taking in your confident stance and taking in a deep breath. “Raise,” he said, a challenging look on his face. 

You placed a couple more coins in the centre without much thought. Remus did the same, enjoying the tension between you and Sirius. You were eyeing each other in such a solemn manner that it was hard for him to hold back a laugh. Even if he lost, it didn’t matter at this point, he just loved your little concentrated faces. 

“All or nothing?” Sirius said as he swallowed. 

“Sure,” you said.

“Vixen that’s–” James said when he realised what you were about to do, he wasn’t sure Sirius was bluffing anymore. But you were.

“Shhh, you’re out of it, Prongs,” Remus said as he too pushed his stash onto the table.

James tilted his head to the side and looked at the three of you nervously. “Well then, show your cards,” he urged.

You took yours but then Sirius stopped both you and Remus by placing his hands on your arms. Remus gave his hand a look and you turned to him with a frown “I raise again.” 

“You can’t raise again, all the money is in the pot,” you said matter of factly. “Well, the cauldron,” you added as you pointed at the pile.

“Never said I’d raise with money, Étoile,” he responded. Sirius was in the deep end. He had a pair of fours and a bunch of other useless cards. He had to get you to fold somehow. “Whoever loses, stays shirtless for the rest of the day.” 

“I can’t really take off my bandages,” Remus said as he threw Sirius a look. 

“Fold then,” Sirius answered with a satisfied smile.

“Twat,” he responded and threw his cards into the bed. “You don’t have to comply with it, Luv. Sirius is desperate.” 

“You’re out of it, Moons,” Sirius retorted and turned to you with a daring look. 

“Shirtless, the rest of the day?”

“You’re more than welcome to fold if you don’t believe in your hand, that is.” 

“Sirius I don’t think–” James started but Sirius threw him a look. 

“Fine,” you smiled. “Whoever loses has to stay shirtless.” 

Remus groaned and covered his face with his eyes. He knew Sirius was bluffing, but he wasn’t sure if you were bluffing too, and he had seen Sirius shirtless plenty of times, he wasn’t sure he was ready to see you shirtless though. “Little Witch, can you never back down from a fight?” 

“Nope,” you said with a smile. “I’m confident in this one.” 

“Yeah, well me too. I raise you again–” 

“Shut up Sirius and show your cards now, she’s not going to fold and I don’t need people walking naked in my house,” Prongs said. 

Time for showdown, you thought as you looked at Sirius and placed your cards on the table. He knew he was doomed the minute he spotted your king, a perfect match for the one on the bed, not to mention the three queens beside him. 

“Fuck,” he said as he left his card on the bed too. “I thought you were trying to bluff.” 

“Vix is cunning, but no one in her right mind would have accepted your stupid raise if they didn’t know they were gonna win,” James said.

Sirius sighed and took off his shirt and threw it your way, you had also seen him shirtless a couple of times, and you’d be lying if you said he didn’t look good, even if he was thinner than both James and Remus. You pulled his shirt from your face and smiled when you realised it was the Bowie shirt he liked to wear all the time. 

Sirius placed both of his arms around his torso, the chill of the open window was enough to make him shiver, you took the cauldron with money and placed its contents into your front pocket, you hadn’t thought just how useful the overalls would be when you bought them. 

“I’m keeping this one,” you said as you motioned to his shirt, he gaped at you. 

“That wasn’t the deal!” 

“Was it him or me the one that decided to put clothes into the pot?” you asked, turning to the two other boys as you did. 

“I think it was Padfoot, wasn’t it?” Prongs teased.

“I’m most definitely sure it was him,” Remus agreed with a smile. Sirius groaned in response. 

“I’m not a petty winner,” you said as you untied the jumper you’d been wearing from around your shoulders and threw it his way. “Take this, we don’t want you to freeze. 

Remus tried not to laugh at the face Sirius made when he caught the jumper and held back a smile when Sirius put on his jumper. Sirius didn’t steal his jumpers as often as you did, he always had his jacket around, and Remus would be lying if he said seeing Sirius wearing his clothes didn’t make him feel stuff.

 “Doesn’t look bad on you,” you teased. 

“Doesn’t smell as bad as I thought it would,” he retorted. “You’ve been wearing it for days.” 

You gasped at that and pushed him lightly. Remus turned to pick up his deck while you and Sirius continued to bicker and really tried not to eye Sirius again. 

Sunday, January 9th, 1977

Remus had stayed on the bed and both you and Sirius had turned into your animagus so you could fit alongside him, it was undoubtedly comfortable, almost like things were settling back into normal. But of course, they were not normal, and they couldn’t be. Not after everything that had happened. Not now that you knew things that you weren’t supposed to know. 

You had woken up at some point during the night, and you tried to ignore the pang in your heart when you noticed Sirius had turned back during the night again, and he was nuzzling into Remus’ shoulder in the same way you sometimes nuzzled into yours. You weren’t sure he looked nearly as comfortable in your arms as he did in his.

You stared at the two of them for a minute before you turned your head and wrapped your tail around yourself. Trying to find comfort in its fluffy embrace, as you swallowed. You really had been too blind, it had been there all the time. You’d taken pictures of it, you’d thought it was funny and adorable, you teased Sirius for it for fucks sake, how did you not see it before?

It had always been right in front of your eyes. You weren’t sure you had ever felt more stupid. Remus was asleep, but he somehow sensed your stirring on the bed and instantly placed his hand over your back, gently brushing his fingers over your fur, like he had done so many times during those nights when you could barely sleep back in his parent’s cottage. 

He was the best friend you’d ever had, and here you were, making him miserable, making both him and your boyfriend miserable. Feeling terrible over it, you jumped down from the bed and allowed yourself to lay close to the fire. Trying not to think how nice it had been that one time when Remus had walked right beside you and wrapped the two of you with the covers. You really didn’t deserve him, you didn’t deserve to cry on his lap, not when you were the main cause of his heartache. Not when you were the one impeding his love to come into fruition. 

Perhaps you really were as terrible as you had said yourself to be back then when you could only think about what you’d done at the Christmas Party. Remus had convinced you otherwise, but he was probably wrong. It had all been your fault, and your mother was dеad and the person you’d tried to save hadn’t even made it out alive. You really had made everything worse, and perhaps you were doing that here too. 

Perhaps that was something inherent to you, something that you couldn’t shake out. Perhaps you just carried misery with you in the same way James carried fun, Sirius carried love and Remus carried comfort. Maybe you had been cursed and you didn’t know about it, maybe it was the fae blood, cursed for mixing with wizards. 

“Hey, what’s up?” James asked as he sat beside you. 

You turned to him surprised, turning into your human form as you looked at him startled. “Did I wake you?” 

“No, I was going to the bathroom, saw a little fox moping the corner.” 

“Not moping,” you said with a frown. “It was cold.” 

“And I’m as brilliant at potions as Dad,” he responded sarcastically. Then pushed you slightly with his shoulder. “Is it about Christmas? Do you wanna talk about that?” 

You sighed, “It’s not,” you said honestly. “Not entirely at least.” 

“Then?” 

“James, if you loved two people, and you knew they loved each other, would you step out of the way and let them be happy without you?” 

“What kind of question is that?” he asked with a frown.

“Just something I read in a book,” you lied. 

James turned to you as if assessing you, but he couldn’t tell what was going on in your head, you just looked at the fire, and then leaned your head on your knee as you turned to him, “So?” 

“Do you really think those two people would be happier if they were together?” 

“I don’t know,” you replied. “But the main character knows they could never test their love if they’re in the middle.”

“Well, I guess I’d leave. Wouldn’t you?”  

“Even if you love one of them?” 

“Didn’t you say it was both?” James asked, confused.  

“I mean– yeah. Just not the same kind of love, I guess.” 

“What kind of book are you reading?” James asked with a frown. 

You tried not to panic, “It’s a muggle book, Russian, and very cheesy, you wouldn’t like it.” 

“What did the main character do?” 

“Haven’t read that part yet.” 

“Well, I think he should do the right thing, don’t you?” 

“Probably,” you said as you let out a long sigh. James was now bouncing his leg right next to you. “Weren’t you going to the bathroom?” 

“Yeah,” he said as he stood up. “Just wanted to check up on you, I’m glad you’re upset over a book and not something else.” 

“Yeah,” you said with a smile that didn’t quite reach your eyes, perhaps if there had been more light, and James wasn’t as blind as a Wilddeoren without his glasses he would have noticed. “I guess I got really invested.” 

Finally, he left towards the bathroom, you turned back into Vixen and returned to the bed, staying near the side rather than climbing back onto Remus’ chest.

When you woke up again, Sirius was looking at you with a smile. “Ready for the party?” 

“Isn’t that in a couple of hours?” you asked. 

“But it’s going to be so much fun! Monty said we could raid his alcohol stash as long as Effie didn’t notice.”

You smiled, if James was as much of a troublemaker as he was, it was because both Monty and Effie took turns to allow him to do stuff without the other noticing. He’d learned how to fly when he was five behind Monty’s back, and he’d been allowed to drink since he turned 14, behind Effie’s. 

“How nice of him,” you replied. “What’s for breakfast?” 

“I think he's preparing some pancakes for us. James and Remus are helping.” 

“James is helping?” 

“He’s good, you’d be surprised,” Sirius said with a laugh. His teeth gleamed as the beam of sun from the window fell on his face. You allowed your head to rest on the pillow as you looked at him. He was stupidly pretty. You were about to lean closer to him when Picksie approached a few feet behind Sirius. 

“Master Fleamont says the food is ready,” She said with her squeaky little voice. 

It was hard not to laugh at the face Sirius made, he knew he was getting a kiss before she appeared, but after a defeated sigh he stood up and extended his hand for you to take, “You’re coming, Étoile?” 

The hours flew by a lot faster than you expected. James was absolutely thrilled about Lily coming over to his house for the first time and he didn’t shut up about it all through breakfast. Effie seemed keenly interested in meeting the girl –officially– and Monty was a little worried as a dad who had utter confidence in his child. 

You were all sitting in the living room, already changed into party clothes, that being a simple skirt, the shirt you’d won at poker (to rub it on Sirius), and a jumper Moony had thrown your way when he saw it was snowing again. Remus and Sirius were playing magic chess while you read a book and James had dozed off on the couch just next to you –he’d been trying to read a book to impress Lily and it wasn’t going that well. 

Sirius was looking at Remus as he made his next move, the taller boy had both of his arms folded over his chest and was biting his lip as he drew all the scenarios in his head. There was a softness in his gaze that you hadn’t noticed before, something akin to admiration, but so much more than that. He realised you were staring and he shot you a wink. 

“Horse F5,” Remus said, and his horse moved to break one of Sirius’ pawns into pieces. 

“Were you just waiting for me to get distracted?” Sirius scoffed. 

“Well, it’s not my fault you were looking at Vixen while I decided to make a move,” Remus responded with a shit-eating grin. He had, indeed, been waiting.

“Jerk,” Sirius complained and turned back to the chessboard.  His tower was just a few blocks from the horse and he could destroy him, but Remus had made sure to move his horse near one of his pawns. If Sirius took revenge, he would lose his tower as well, and this time he’d be losing to a pawn. He huffed and made a different move. 

You looked at the two of them after that, just paying attention to the way they played, at just how comfortable they seemed to be around each other. You hated it, not how happy they were, that was delightful, it filled your heart with joy to see them smiling and joking around. 

Both of them –although one had a loud personality– had a gloomy atmosphere that they seemed to carry along at all times. While Remus tended to be quiet and reserved, and Sirius played jokes to mask his feelings, both of them had a sort of dolefulness deeply embedded within them. You’d seen it when you looked at them in the halls and when they had been apart from the rest of their friends for a while. 

You noticed when they were around James it lifted, and how could it not? James’ personality was warm and welcoming enough to melt even the most frozen of people, but even that, was nothing compared to what you were seeing just now. The way they joked, the way they talked, it was absolutely fascinating how much they cared for each other. 

And then there was you, you made them happy too, you weren’t stupid enough not to notice, but it was when they were both together that that dolefulness seemed to lift almost completely from their shoulder as if it never had been there in the first place as if there had never been a tragic backstory burdening their minds.

What you were too stupid to see back then, was that whenever you saw that, the magic that seemed to be almost buzzing through both boys as they chatted and joked together was that even though they were interacting with one another, you were also in the room. 

John Berger once said, "Every spectator is a participant”. And really, without your participation in such scenes, the result wouldn’t have been the same. The perfect atmosphere that you seemed to admire so much, the peak of mood that made your heart ache for their longing for each other, was only there because you were there too. 

But with the thoughts clouding your mind, with the things that had happened in Christmas and with the self-loathing that you couldn’t shake no matter what you tried, no matter how many people called you brave, you were far from seeing the truth. Too wrapped up in your inner turmoil, in your own struggle to think of yourself as anything other than chaos, that you were far closer to worrying yourself to dеath with despair than from seeing the truth so clearly displayed behind the dull fabric of self-hatred you’d placed over yourself.

You thought you were so smart, and yet you were about to make a move more stupid than the King to C6 that had gotten Sirius straight into the checkmate Moony had been cornering him into the entire game.

The bell rang, snapping you out of your thoughts, you turned your face towards the door and left the glass you had in your hand near the table where Remus and Sirius had been playing wizard’s chess. James had dozed off on the couch and rather than waking him up, you thought of attending the door yourself. 

Marlene was on the other side of the door, hair shorter than it had been before, and a huge smile on her face when you were the first thing she saw. She rushed to hug you. “I’m so happy to see you’re here,” she said with a sigh. “You know I’m on your side, right? Always.” 

“Have they been talking about me on the papers?” you asked, not wanting to hear the answer, but asking anyway.

“Your father talked to the press,” she breathed, “he said you… he said you ran away from home after your mother passed and he said he was looking for you and hoping you came back home soon. That’s what your mother would have wanted. It also sounded a bit like you had been partly to blame for the fire.” 

You held back a sad scoff. He wasn’t saying anything that wasn’t true. Except he had omitted the fact he had tortured her, and forced you to find a distraction. “Of course, he would,” you sighed. “At least Dumbledore knows what actually happened.” 

“You– trust him?” 

“He might not have whatever happens to us in his best interest, Marlene. I know he cares about stopping them more than anything. But… we’re fighting for the same cause… and I think he cares, even if it’s just a little.” 

“The war…” 

You sighed and then shook your head, replacing the strained expression you had with a smile. “But that’s not why we’re here. We’re celebrating a new year and we’re not going to dwell on the sad stuff, now while we’re together.” 

Marlene seemed hesitant about your quick change, but upon realising it was your only way of coping, she nodded and mirrored your reaction. The moment she walked into the room she went straight to wake James up and told him off –jokingly– about being a terrible host and letting his guests do all the hosting for him. 

Poor James looked so confused the minute Marlene showed up that he stood up and got everyone snacks and something to drink. Slowly but surely the house started to fill up with your friends. Mary and Lily came together since Effie had gone to get them so they could all apparate back in the house, Tom arrived by Floo and Beth rode a broom since she didn’t leave too far from the Potters. 

It really was more of a small gathering than a party, only the close group of Gryffindors had been invited since James’ parents were still hesitant about the entire thing getting too big and accidentally ending up with dеatheaters at their doorstep. But it was perfect, nonetheless. Seeing your friends was lifting up your spirits. 

Lily had gone straight to hug you when she arrived and the boys wouldn’t stop teasing James about it, he was clever enough to retort Sirius’ comments by reminding him that you had once said you were into redheads and he was the one that should be worried. 

“If we start dating, you can just date each other,” Lily added to the joke to which James made the face of someone who was actually considering it and Sirius made one disgusted. 

“That would be like dating Regulus,” James said and got shoved by Sirius who said something about being more handsome than his brother. 

Still, you didn’t miss the way Sirius’ gaze flickered, looking for Remus who was talking to Mary in one of the corners. You took a deep breath after that and thought –stupidly– the only solution to the thoughts currently tormenting you, would be alcohol. You walked towards the improv drink section they had created and poured yourself some of the ice vodka James had snatched from Monty’s stash. He’d charmed the flask so he could fill an entire bottle inside and gave it to you when Lily asked him to dance. 

You debated on whether to add anything else and decided against it, although it tasted fantastic with Mellie’s lemon juice (you had tried it last night when the boys convinced you and Remus to play Monopoly again but this time wasted so they had a better chance of winning– Remus won anyway).  But you wanted the punch the drink would give you more than the taste. You downed the glass like a shot and served yourself another bit, this time actually adding the Lemon Juice. 

“How come you’re not all over Sirius?” Tom asked as he approached you. “He looks incredible today.” 

You huffed in response, taking another sip of your cup, and mumbling a short “I know.” The problem was, Remus knew too. You had seen him gaze at him more times than you could count. He had gazed at you too, the skirt you chose to wear not helping him with his rather active imagination, so instead he tried to look anywhere else. He did not want to be a perv, let alone be caught checking his best friend’s girlfriend out. 

“You okay?” he asked, confused.

“Yeah, yeah,” you responded with a sigh. “I’ve been thinking too much, I think.” 

“Want something to think less?” he asked as he took out a small flask from his front pocket. Not big enough for alcohol, but certainly big enough for a good potion. 

What a terrible idea that was. “What is it?” 

“New creation, been working on it over the break. Kind of like the potion at Halloween but with a few tweaks here and there.” 

“Is it good?” 

“Haven’t tried it yet… So, you want it?” 

You had a mission, you had to figure out what to do, not that you wanted to have that mission, and not that you wanted to figure it out either, every choice seemed like the wrong one, every turn and you’d hurt someone (yourself included). You were tired, you just wanted things to be like before… before you knew. 

Selfish, a small voice in your head shouted, that’s selfish.

“If you knew two people were in love, and you were in the middle of it. But these are two people who are basically made for each other, and they’ve known the other for longer than they’ve known you, would you step out of the way?” You asked him, eerily similar to what you’d asked James in the middle of the night. Perhaps more perspective could help you.

Tom pulled the flask back into his pocket and gave you a confused look. “What are you talking about?” 

“Nothing,” you lied, snapping out of it. “A book I was reading… The potion?” 

He placed his hand on his pocket, then on his back pockets. “Sorry, Slysprite, I must have misplaced it.” 

“I really could have used some of it,” you added with a laugh. And that was exactly why there was no way in hell Tom would give it to you, he was tempted to take the beverage from your hands as well, but he was half scared of what an angry you would do, so decided to leave that to someone who was way closer. 

“I think Remus is looking for you,” Tom said as he pushed you towards him and left you on the sofa next to the boy. “Mary, darling, care to dance?” 

She smiled and grabbed Tom’s hand, leaving you and Remus alone. Sirius was off playing potion pong with Marlene, although they hadn’t actually used any potions and were using booze instead. 

You let your head fall on the back of the sofa, sliding a few inches down and sighing. Remus leaned over your frame to give you a better look while ignoring your skirt and how much it had ridden up. “Are you okay?” he asked, concern laced in his tone. He grabbed the cup from your hands and brought it to his nose, smelling the contents before wincing. It was more vodka than lemon juice. “How many of these have you had so far?”

“Not that many,” you replied, which wasn’t a lie. “I’m not drunk.” 

“Yeah, I know,” he said simply. “You’re… upset. Is it the party? You want to leave?” 

“No, not at all,” you said. “I love seeing everyone happy. Did you see Prongs and Lily? I’m pretty sure he strategically placed mistletoe all over the doors so he could steal as many kisses from her as possible. She seems as delighted as he is.” 

Then why do you look upset? Remus thought, not wanting to ask yet. 

“You sure?” he asked as he poked your cheek. 

You opened your eyes, first just a little and then you focused on him. He looked concerned, very concerned, you could tell he cared about you an insane amount. It made the guilt even stronger, here he was, so concerned over you and your pain while you were constantly causing him heartache. Both of them had to steer away from the other because of you. 

You smiled. “You know I’d go to the ends of the earth for you, right?” you said as you placed a hand on his cheek, brushing one of his scars with your thumb and holding him in place when he was taken aback by your words. 

“What?” 

“I want you to be happy too.” 

“What are you talking about?” he asked as he took your hand from his cheek and held it in his, a frown etched on his beautiful features. Even now, you were causing him pain.

“Nothing,” you said. “I know… I know what’s making you so upset, I’ll stop that.” 

“What?!” Remus asked, a hint of panic in his voice that brought you back to reality, away from his hypnotising brown eyes and puppy-like gaze, you didn’t blame Sirius, you couldn’t blame him. In the same way, you couldn’t blame Remus. 

“Nothing,” you repeated, this time more dismissively than before, “I must have had too much to drink… you want some?” you added as you looked for the glass that was now on the table, took it in your hands and offered it to him. 

Remus frowned and took the glass from your hands. “Are you sure you’re okay?” 

“Hmm?” you asked, turning back to him, Sirius had been looking at the both of you with interest. You would have to talk to him. “Yeah, totally. You know Tom made a new potion.” 

Remus sighed when he heard that. Now things made sense. You weren’t lying. You knew Remus could sometimes smell a lie of yours from miles away, so you decided to tell the truth. Tom had made a new potion, you never said you had drunk it. 

“I’ll get you some water,” Remus said as he stood up and walked towards the kitchen. 

Sirius was already there, looking through James’ secret snack stash to find something salty, he was really craving something salty. “Is she okay?” he asked. 

“She drank something Tom made,” Remus said simply. “I think she’s okay, just saying some weird stuff.” 

“Like what?” Sirius quipped curiously.

“Some nonsense about making me happy,” Remus responded, he’d taken a glass from the cupboard and was now filling it on the sink. 

“Mhm?” Sirius asked as he pulled a bag of fizzing whizbees and turned to Remus. “Maybe she’s just thankful for everything that you’ve done for her lately, wants to make it up to you.” 

“There’s nothing to make up for,” Remus said simply and caught the small ball Sirius had thrown his way with his left. “What’s with this?”

“You look like you need some candy,” Sirius said as he took a step closer to Remus. “You’re kind of pale.” Sirius was now so close to Remus he could see the freckles that hid beneath his scars. “Maybe you should eat a bit more.” 

Remus took a step back. What was with you and Sirius? Both seemed to have this unworldly desire to touch him today, he could barely find a way to run away. 

“I’m perfectly fine,” Remus said and plopped the fizzing whizbee on his mouth, he started floating shortly after. “Fucking hell.” It was more of an exasperated curse than anything else. 

Sirius laughed, reached for Remus’ hand and pulled him down. Ignoring entirely how well it felt to have Remus’ hand in his. “Didn’t think you’d eat it,” he said with a short shrug, still not letting go of Remus’ hand. 

“Maybe you should talk to her instead,” he said, turning back to the sofa, but you weren’t there anymore. He frowned.

“Care to share?” you asked. Remus turned to you with a mortified expression and snapped his hand away from Sirius, floating back up for a second, until he coughed a couple of times and went back down. 

Sirius looked at Remus diverted, and smiled even further when he handed the glass of water to Sirius and excused himself by saying he needed to go to the bathroom. You looked at Sirius, at the way his eyes trailed behind Remus before fixating on you. He had never looked at James like that. He had never looked at any of his other friends like that. In fact, you might dare say, the only person he had ever given than look, was you. 

He then walked towards you, there was a table in between the two, but he extended his hand with a small red ball towards you. 

We should talk, you thought as you took what he offered. 

Rather than taking the candy to your mouth, you placed it on the table and turned back to look at Sirius. He was as beautiful as always. Long lashes, stunning grey eyes, hair curling around his face in that angelic and yet somehow devilish look he had going on. 

His gaze was as lost on you as yours was on him, but while his thoughts were filled with you, yours were filled with suspicion of the feelings you knew he harboured for someone else. You rounded the table to walk right in front of him and took the glass of water from his hands before bringing it to your lips. You took a long and gentle sip before pulling it down again and looking at Sirius. 

“You like him, don’t you?” you said, voice steady, somehow steadier than you’d thought you’d manage.

“What!?” Sirius asked, confused. There was a hint of panic in his voice as if he knew he’d been found out but was trying to hide it anyway. 

“Remus,” you said simply, as if it were the most natural thing ever –it was.

You saw him tense, and you smiled, reassuringly in return. “It’s in your gaze, Sirius. You look at him the same way you looked at me when we met. Did you really think I wouldn’t notice?” 

He placed both hands on your arms, shaking you to look at him instead of the door. Desperate, Sirius was desperate. “But I don’t love you any less.” 

You smiled, a sad sort of smile that Sirius hated to see on your face. But he hated himself more for hurting you, for making you feel like you were not enough, for allowing you to see how desperate he was for love that even when he had it, he craved more of it.

“I’m sure you don’t,” you said, placing your hand on his cheek. He leaned into it instantly. Like he did all the time. Almost brushing his head onto your hand. There was a conflicted frown on his soft features, tears threatening to form. “Hey,” you said simply, he leaned his head onto your shoulder. 

“I’m sorry,” he sobbed. “I’m sorry, I’m so sorry. I shouldn’t have… I should have been better at hiding it, you must think I’m the worst person in the entire universe.” 

“Of course not,” you said as you scratched his scalp the way you knew would calm him. “You just fell in love.” 

“With my straight best friend,” he said. “Just…” he sniffed. “I’m sure I’ll get over it. It might just be my way of discovering I’m like you and Tom.” 

“Bisexual?” you offered. 

“Yes, that,” Sirius didn’t dare to say the word. “I’m sure Moony’s just an outlet, I can’t be in love with him, I love you.” 

You swallowed, he wasn’t making it any easier. You really didn’t want to do it, you hated the idea of losing him, but he deserved to be happy, they both did. “He’s not straight.”  

“What?” he asked. 

“He’s not straight,” you repeated. “Remus, he… he likes boys too.” 

Sirius pulled his head from your hand and looked at you with the most bewildered expression you had seen on him, “What?” 

“More specifically, he likes you.” 

“No,” he said as he shook his head. You nodded in response. “What about Alice?” 

“He started going out with her after Halloween, remember? What exactly were you doing on Halloween?” 

“I was dancing with you and–” it seemed like Sirius had seen things from the outside for the first time ever. “Merlin! He did it because I was– Because I was with you.” 

“And your sudden urge for kisses?” You added, your eyes were watery, you had to take deep breaths to hold the tears back, to stay calm. You’d analysed most of your interactions together by now, everything you remembered. Sirius had liked Remus for far longer than he’d even realised he had. 

“No, that wasn’t the reason. I wanted to kiss you.” 

“I’m certain you did,” you said with a smile. It was that same sad smile you had been prompting since the start of the conversation. 

“Look at me,” Sirius said as he shook your shoulders again. “I love you. I love you and you need to understand that. I’m not going to leave you for him. No matter how incredible he might be. No matter if he likes me. I love you.” 

And you knew he would. But it wouldn’t be worth it, it wouldn’t be fair for any of you. You’d told Remus you would do anything for him. He had saved your life, he had cared for you when you were hurt, and he would have gone to the ends of the earth to make you smile. How could you pay him back if you tied Sirius down to you? When you tied him down knowing he liked Remus too? 

“I know,” you said reassuringly. And you did, you never doubted Sirius’ love for you, it was just as undeniable as his love for Remus. Sirius had such a big heart, he could love and love and he deserved all the love, all of it. He deserved Remus’ love. And you weren’t sure he’d ever be able to enjoy it if you were in the middle of it. You wanted him to be happy, you wanted both of them to be, even if it was in each other’s arms, and not in yours. 

Sirius pulled you into a kiss, desperate to show you how much he loved you. You kissed him back, but you were soft and tender in comparison to his desperate breaths. Sirius realised too late the kind of kiss you were giving him. 

“Don’t do that,” he said as he pulled away. 

You rubbed your thumb over his cheek. Sirius was terrified now. Terrified that the one thing he thought would happen if you found out would actually happen, that you would leave him. But in this case, you weren’t leaving him because you were mad, you didn’t even seem angry at all, it was more like you wanted to step out of the way. 

“Stop it,” he repeated, now petulantly, almost like a child. “Don’t be good, don’t be the hero. Be selfish! Be selfish, be selfish for me.” 

The more Sirius talked, the harder it was for you to continue. You wanted to be selfish, you wanted to keep him, but not at the expense of other’s pain, not at the expense of Remus’. Remus and Sirius needed love, and you could only make them both happy if you allowed them to give it to each other, or so you thought. 

Sirius leaned in to kiss you again but this time you moved your mouth out of the way, placing a soft kiss on his cheek instead. You could feel the wet hot tears dampen your lips as you kissed him. At first, you weren’t sure who they belonged to, but you had somehow managed to hold yours in this far. 

Sirius whispered your name as he gripped onto your shirt, bunching it up in a futile attempt to hold you. “Please,” he begged. “Please don’t do this. I don’t want him, I will never want him. Please-” 

“If only we could choose our nature,” you sighed. “We said we wouldn’t lie to each other, remember?” 

“Please,” he pleaded, every muscle on his face turning into the most evident show of agony.

Sirius had never begged to a woman in his entire life, he was ready to go down on his knees and be as pathetic as he needed. Whatever means he had to do to convince you to stay. To not leave him for being so stupid. To not disappear again. You placed both of your hands over his, gently pushing them off your shirt, and pulling him into a hug. 

He relaxed as you dug your head into his neck and inhaled the delicious scent so particular of Sirius Black. And then you said it. “Go after him, Sirius.” 

He looked at you like you had betrayed him as you pulled apart. He tried to hold onto your arm but you were quicker to move it out of his grasp. Turning your back to him and walking towards the door. 

“I love you more. I will always love you more. It’s just a stupid crush, I’m sure it will–” he stopped. He didn’t believe that either, there was no way he’d trick you. You kept walking towards the door. “Please don’t leave me,” Sirius said, tears streaming down his face. “I don’t want to be alone.” 

You staggered, the tears you had fought so hard to hold were now streaming down your face, you held back a sob. You didn’t want him to know you were crying too, you wanted to spare him the heartache. You thought of turning around, you thought of running to hug him and tell him things would be all right, telling him that it didn’t matter, that you’d find a solution that made everyone happy. But you knew you were lying to yourself. Remus wouldn’t be happy if you were with Sirius and Sirius wouldn’t be happy if he couldn’t be with Remus either. It was best to step out of the way before it was too late. 

Before you wouldn’t be able to pull away even if you wanted to. You could barely do it now. 

You took a deep, trembling breath and then willed your mouth to still again before you spoke, “You won’t be alone, Sirius. Go and talk to him.” 

Sirius’ despair had now transformed to anger, he stalked your way and made you turn around in a harsh movement so uncharacteristic of him and the way he touched you all the time that you looked at him with shock.

“I’m not going to let you run away from this like you’ve been running away from your pain ever since Christmas!” 

The harsh truth. Spit into your face with the anguished face of the person that– probably the person that you loved the most. 

“I’m sorry,” you said, tilting your head, “I can’t help you.” 

“Tell me you don’t love me, and I will stop. I won’t look for you. Go ahead, I dare you.” 

Sirius had never been one to keep his temper cool, it was easy to get a rise out of him and you had often done it for fun. Never had it been real, never had you seen him so angry, so wrecked. You were doing this to him. 

Your lips trembled. You hated this, you hated causing so much pain to him. You were trying to make him happier, couldn’t he see? 

Of course, he couldn’t. Sirius would never fathom a life without you as a happy one. They were an antithesis to each other, and there was no way he’d ever be happy if you weren’t there. If you and Remus weren’t there. 

He wouldn’t stop, he wouldn’t go to him if you didn’t do it. You bit your lip, gaze flickering. Out of the corner of your eye, you spotted Remus. He was talking to Lily, she was laughing and he had a smile on, but it wasn’t a real one, he was upset. 

Maybe because you and Sirius were in the kitchen together doing god knows what. Your quivering stilled, your choice had been made easy. You knew what you had to do, and while the pain that Sirius’ broken gaze gave you was unbearable, much worse than cruciatus, you knew, just like that time, why you had to take it and why you were willing to do it.

 “I don’t love you, Sirius,” you said, slow, carefully articulating every word, trying to spare them of the feelings you had stuck in your head, of the words desperate to come out: I do, I’m lying, don’t listen to me, I’m lying. “I stopped loving you the second I figured you had feelings for Remus.” 

“You’re lying,” Sirius said unconvinced, voice trembling. 

“I’m sorry,” you said tilting your head to the side. “You should talk to Remus, though.” 

You somehow managed to slip from his grasp and walked towards the stairs. You wiped your tears away, and you were so busy with your task that you didn’t see Remus as you bumped into him. He looked at you, concerned visible in his features the second he realised you had been crying. 

“Hey,” he said. “Are you okay? Did something happen?” 

Yes, he deserved to be happy. You swallowed thickly. “Sirius was looking for you.” 

“What?” Remus asked, confused. 

“Go talk to him.” You added with a smile. “I’m okay, something got on my eye.” 

Remus seemed hesitant and then turned to look at the kitchen door. Sirius seemed as upset as you were. As sad and terrified as you looked. He turned to you again, as if trying to ensure he could go instead of staying with you. 

“But–” 

“I said: go.” The way the words echoed in your brain was disorienting. What was more, was the fact that Remus’ worried stance seemed to dissolve into oblivion as he turned around and walked towards Sirius. When you noticed his blank stare you gasped, covering your mouth with your hand when you realised what you had done. 

You couldn’t have, it was impossible. You didn’t have the ability you... Remus kept walking towards Sirius without so much of a glance back. 

You had used charmspeak on him

It'll drain the power that's in you Make you plead and scream and crawl And the pain will make you crazy You're the victim of your crime Too much love will kiII you every time

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A/N: Well that was something... I shed a couple of tears (many) while writing it, but you know what this means? The worst of the angst is about to pass and we're finally gonna have the fluflly fluff <3

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[darlingshane]

Dirty Laundry

Shane Walsh x F!Reader

Summary: Shane doesn't approve of the way you do laundry. He tries to school you, but he loves you so much he can't really stay mad at you for long, especially when you start taking your clothes off.

Content/Warnings: 18+. Explicit, Smut, Crack, Oral Sex (f. recieving), Vaginal sex, Pet Names, Bratty reader. No ZA.

Word Count: 1.9k // AO3 Link.

You were aware Shane had his quirks before moving in together. Some you already knew, like having five pairs of boots from the same brand, or the way he chews his thumbnail when he’s nervous, or how he frantically runs his hand on his hair when he’s pissed… Most of those were quickly revealed after you started dating. Others you'd only come aware of them upon moving in together.

One that is highly surprising is his obsession with laundry. You noticed that his clothes were always perfectly clean and ironed as he wore them on any occasion you went out, no matter how fancy or casual. But once you were sharing the same bedroom, you found out that even his underwear is always neatly pressed and folded in the drawer as if it had just come out of the package. With how much he works, you always thought he'd have taken to a cleaners or something, but that’s not the case. He not only cares for his own clothes but making laundry is something he actually enjoys. It relaxes him, he says. Which it’s the complete opposite for you. It makes you anxious anytime you have to do it. Especially the folding and sorting part. When you lived alone, there was always a pile sitting on that chair in the corner of your room. But not anymore. Now that you are living with Shane there are no more random piles collecting dust for days at a time in any chair of the house. Anytime he does laundry, you come home to find your drawers perfectly organized. It’s not something you can complain about because Shane is a true dream of a partner. Quirks and all, you wouldn’t have it any other way. So, in return, any time it’s your turn to make laundry, no matter how much you hate it, you make the minimal effort to at least take the same care of his clothes as he does for yours. Though you could tell that sometimes he doesn’t approve of your messy folding technique, and has to rearrange them when you’re not around, he never says anything either.

But today, when it's your turn to do laundry, he comes home to catch you transferring all the dirty clothes from the hamper into the washing machine, both yours and his without much regard of type, color, texture… That's how you've always done it. Yes, it's messy, and you've had a couple of mishaps, but nothing really atrocious ever happened. You never put that much thought into it, to be honest. It's just clothing. But not for Shane. Watching his precious shirts, and uniform with the rest of the load makes him physically ill. He stares at you as if you were killing a puppy.

“What the hell were you thinking?” he goes off, taking stuff out of the washer. “You can't mix delicates with towels. And what the fuck is this?” he picks up a pair of dirty sneakers from the bottom of the drum. “You were really gonna wash them with all these? You're a fuckin’ savage.”

You lean against the dryer and try not to burst into laughter at how annoyed he is. It's kinda cute actually to see him frown at you with scorn, and hearing his voice pitch a little higher than usual.

These past few weeks, you've been collecting a series of firsts since you moved into your new home. The first time you cooked in your new kitchen, the first time you disagreed when it came to rearranging the living room furniture, the first night you woke him up when you heard a strange noise in the hallway… And today it's the first time you've truly seen him irritated.

“It's just clothes, babe. Who cares?”

“I care.” He frantically goes through the heap of clothes, divorcing them into several piles on top of the washer. “Please tell me at least you're not using the speed cycle to wash everything.”

“What? It saves time, water, electricity…”

“Yeah, but at what cost.”

“Gee, it's not like I murdered someone.”

“You were about to murder my uniform. That's the real crime.”

“Hmm, you look better without it anyway.” You tease, reaching with your hand to pinch his booty covered by a pair of jeans.

“Stop, this is serious.” Shane stays firm in his position but tries to hide one corner of his mouth pulling up into a half-smile. “Look, I’m gonna show you how it’s done.”

“Ohh, fun. I'm about to get schooled by the laundry police. Please enlighten me, Officer.”

You roll your eyes and half listen to him explaining the washer’s control panel to you as if you were an idiot. It’s not that you don’t know how to use it, it’s that you’re lazy and rather put everything together and save time. Then, he proceeds to elaborate on which categories you should separate the different types of fabrics.

“That would take me all day if I have to do that many loads.”

“So? That’s what weekends are for?”

“Noooo. Weekends are for resting, watching movies, and chilling.”

“Who said you can't have that too?”

“You! I think I lost five years of my life by just listening to you explaining how to do laundry.”

“You’re being a little brat today.”

“Am I now?” You smirk and push one of the piles he had on top of the washer to the floor. “Whoops.”

“What the hell do you think you’re doin’?”

“Nothing.” You push the next one.

“You're playing a dangerous game, darling.”

“Yeah? I just want you to teach me again how to do it.” Next, you grab the hem of the t-shirt you’re wearing, pull it over your head and dangle it in your finger. “Where should I put this, deputy?”

“I'd put it up your ass. Bet it'd look real nice there.”

You snort and let the shirt fall to the floor.

“What about this, Mr. Delicate?” you unclasp your bra, slip the straps off your arms, and drape it on his shoulder. “Do you like it there?”

Then, you brace your palms on his chest, your lips draw a grin as you lean to whisper closer to his mouth. “Or do you want me to put it back on?”

“Don't fucking dare putting it back on?” He mutters, swatting the bra off his shoulder before having his hand holding your jaw firmly.

There's actually no other choice for him than to join your little game. Laundry be damned when it comes to choosing between you or clothes.

Licking his lips, he pulls his head back, eyes roaming down to your bare chest as you move your hands to hold his waist. When his stare travels back up, you both lock eyes for a second before having his mouth pressed against yours with a sloppy, pushing flick of his tongue forcing itself past your lips.

His hand keeps your head still while he shoves your back against the wall. His free hand snakes its way under the waistband of your sweatpants at the front. His fingers shamelessly rub your pussy back and forth over your panties, tucking the fabric in your slit. Hitting all the right spots, he earns a good moan out of you.

All of a sudden, his tongue comes to a stop. His hand too. Shane drops to his knees. From that position he pulls your sweatpants down to your ankles and grabs your hips as his tongue juts out to draw a wet circle around your navel. He then trails down, as your skin comes alive into goose flesh. He yanks your underwear down your legs to join your pants at the floor before having his mouth shoved at the junction of your hips. His mouth travels all over your sex, leaving kisses and nibbles your outer lips, licking your folds, teasing your clit…

“Shane… Fuck…” you bury your fingers in his hair and pull tight as the tip of his tongue circles your opening.

Your body writhes against the hard surface holding your back, your grip tightens on his hair while his lips viciously start sucking your clit. Your pussy melts as much as any time he goes down on you and just as fast as before, his mouth is suddenly gone before the job is done, leaving that sweet aching lingering all over your cunt. He lifts his stare to seize your unsatisfied expression as you gasp for air. He quickly yanks his shirt off before holding your hips and bringing you down to the floor.

“C’mere, dirty lil brat,” he growls, and you yelp as he manhandles your body, rolling you to your back right on top of the pile of dirty laundry you tossed to the floor.

Shane removes the clothing hanging around your ankles and sets your knees widely apart so he can kneel in between. He unzips his jeans, pulls them down to the middle of his thighs along with his boxer briefs to release his erection. He’s hard as rock. The flared tip of his dick is swollen and red, begging for some friction. There’s a dark shine in his eyes that matches the glossy layer of your juices smeared all over his lips and chin. As he lowers his body down, you frame his face with both your palms, pull his face closer to capture his mouth while he blindly guides himself into your opening. Your core knots tightly as he pushes all his length up to the hilt. His breathing shallows as you devour his mouth with hunger. He comfortably settles on top of you, holding one of his arms on the side of your head while his other hand clutches to your hips. His thrusts come sharp and steady, filling the room with the relentless slapping of his hips against your skin and the desperate sounds of your kisses.

“God, I love you,” you groan in his mouth.

“Love you more, sweetheart.”

You breathe the air of his lungs, eat his tongue and swallow the sweet grunts that come out of his throat one beat at a time as you both lose the ability to draw deeper breaths. His cock swiftly comes in and out of you as your legs tremble and lock. You move your hands to hold his ass as the erratic waving of his hips drives you out of your mind. A pulse later you're hit with a mighty climax that almost makes you lose consciousness. As your walls flutter around his thickness he spills all his warm juices deep in your walls.

“Fuck me,” his voice falters as he slips out of you.

He lays flat on top of you for a moment as your orgasm slowly ebbs. His skin is warm and damp against yours as your palm glides up his back to comb the hairs at his nape.

“Oh god, now the laundry is dirtier than before,” you laugh softly as his smile grows wide against your neck.

“And whose fault is that, huh?” he lifts his head to look at you with an eyebrow slightly raised.

“Technically… it’s yours. If you had let me do it as I wanted, this wouldn’t have happened.”

“Ain’t that right?” he playfully pinches your side making you jolt and chuckle.

“I mean… I’d rather do you than do laundry, so I'm not complaining.”

“Yeah?” he sweetly dips to leave a chaste peck on your lips. “I'd rather do you, too.”

[dustofthedailylife]

It's Beginning To Look A Lot Like Christmas

→ Masterlist || → Taglist

Pairing: Wriothesley, Alhaitham, Diluc x (gn!) Reader

Summary: The Christmas season is rolling around and you spend those days with the one you love most. How are you spending it?

Tags: Fluff, comfort, kissing, teasing, consumption of (reasonable amounts of) alcohol

A/N: this is my secret santa gift for @jellalism for the @2023gisecretsanta event! (Hi, it me again :3). Once again I hope you have a merry Christmas and a wonderful holiday season. Sending you many hugs and I hope these fics make your holiday season a little brighter! <3

WRIOTHESLEY

It was a cold day in Fontaine and Christmas wasn’t far off. Just a little over a week and you’d be able to spend your first holiday together with Wriothesley. You already bought all the Christmas presents and had your bags packed to spend Christmas over at his place. 

The presents still sat neatly packaged below the beautifully decorated Christmas tree in your living room. But they wouldn’t stay there for much longer as you had agreed to come over today and stay until Christmas. So the presents needed to be relocated as well. 

You were beyond ecstatic to finally see him again. Especially since he even took some time off work as well to spend it with you.

Loaded with your bags and gifts you enthusiastically knocked on his door and it was soon opened by the man himself. He was wearing a cozy hoodie and sweatpants and looked like he had just woken up from a nap. At least judging by the pillow imprint on his cheek. 

Cute, you thought.

“Hi, sleepy head. Enjoying your time off?” You greeted him teasingly, pressing a quick peck to his lips before squeezing inside past him.

You quickly kicked off your shoes and impatiently waddled behind him, following him into the living room. You were curious to see how Wriothesley had decorated his home for the holidays, so when his back left your field of view and you could finally see the room you saw…

Nothing.

Not even a single Christmas light could be found in his house. There was no Christmas tree, no Christmas cookies on the coffee table, no cozy candles, no ornaments or stockings, no nothing.

“Do you want a cup of tea?”, Wriothesley asked, gently taking your face in between his big warm hands.

“Uuuh…”

Your initial smile faltered pretty much immediately after you had taken in the utterly unfestive atmosphere and he seemed to have immediately noticed it, too.

“Is something wrong?” He inquired with a hint of concern in his voice.

“Where is the Christmas decoration?” You asked baffled. “You know Christmas is only a couple of days away, right?”

Now it was his turn to usher an awkward ‘uuuh’. He quickly glanced over his shoulder, scanning the room, before apologetically looking back at you with an expression that said ‘Sorry, it slipped my mind’.

“Well, uhm.. To be frank, I’m rarely ever here over the holidays so I don’t really… own any Christmas decorations.” He explained with a shrug and donned an embarrassed smile and scratched the back of his head. “Neither have I ever celebrated Christmas properly since I usually just work.”

“No no. This absolutely won’t do.” You lifted your finger up to his face in playful protest. “Go put on some clothes, we’re going shopping. We’re absolutely not celebrating Christmas before every nook and cranny in this house is looking festive and is covered in glitter.” You announced with determination, already marching towards the main entrance again to put your shoes back on.

“Right now?” He inquired in surprise.

“Right now.” You quickly confirmed. “And I pick the decorations – you pay.” You declared, putting your hands on your hips while glaring at him reprimandingly.

“Hey, wait a second! I never agreed to that.” He protested weakly, crossing his arms over his chest. But his smirk betrayed his real thoughts – he was enjoying this playful banter as much as you were.

“Well, too bad. You don’t get a say in this. Now come on, shopping time.”

Not even half an hour later and wrapped in your warm winter clothes, you found yourselves walking along the streets of Fontaine. It had already gone dark and a couple of snowflakes danced in the yellow light of the street lanterns. The shops by the road were all decorated with an abundance of Christmas lights and the air carried the fragrant smell of cinnamon and mulled wine.

You looked up to Wriothesley, who was walking hand in hand with you, while window shopping. When he noticed your glance his lips curled into a loving smile that was barely visible behind the gigantic red scarf that he had wrapped around his neck. His cheeks and nose were reddened by the cold and the snowflakes that got caught in his hair only emphasized how adorable he looked.

You dragged him into some stores that you knew sold various knick-knacks and decorations and bought what felt like an entire month’s salary worth of Christmas decorations. Although, despite all that, he somehow still managed to leave more money at his trusted tea store on the way back home.

Back at his house you quickly unpacked everything that you bought and got to work. While Wriothesley put up the Christmas tree you made sure not a single curtain rod, windowsill, and table was without any Christmas lights or candles. As soon as that was done you helped him put the red and gold glass ornaments on the tree.

All that was missing now was the big golden star tree topper that you attempted to hand to him, so that he could put it up on the tree himself. But before you had any chance to do so, he had already snuck both of his muscular arms around your waist and hoisted you up so you could stick it on yourself.

Once back on steady ground you looked around and marveled at your finished work. Everything was enveloped by a cozy light from all the Christmas lights and it looked even better than you had imagined. This would definitely do!

“I think we got everything.” You announced cheerfully, leaning your head against his broad chest and glancing at the tree to your left.

“Hmm.” Wriothesley hummed contemplatively, his chest vibrating against your ear as he did. “I think one thing is still missing.”

“Huh? What did we miss?” You lifted your head with a questioningly raised brow.

He fumbled around behind his back with a mischievous smirk plastered across his face. You knew that expression all too well by now – he was up to something.

You watched as he pulled out a little green twig with a red ribbon. You were barely even able to identify it as a mistletoe before he had already lifted it up into the air and held it over both of your heads. His free hand quickly found comfort around your waist, pulling you closer to him.

Within the blink of an eye, his lips sealed yours with a passionate kiss, knocking the breath right out of you. You leaned into him with a giggle and felt him smile into the kiss in return. 

In an attempt to be even closer to him than you already were, your hand found comfort in his soft raven-colored hair. Reciprocating the sentiment, he snaked the arm he had held up over you around your midriff as well, hugging you impossibly tighter.

While leaning his forehead against yours and softly rubbing the tip of your noses together, he looked deep into your eyes with the same sly smirk he had donned earlier, before proudly declaring: “Now we’ve got everything.”

ALHAITHAM

With packed suitcases, you and Alhaitham crossed the bridge to your hometown Mondstadt. It was snowing heavily and the cold, biting wind was gnawing away at every sliver of exposed skin. It felt like icy needles were pricking at your face. 

It was peacefully quiet and all that could be heard was the crunch of the thick snow below your boots.  You watched how the snowflakes danced in the wind and how they got caught in the ashen hair and lashes of Alhaitham, who was walking by your side.

Looking at him in this kind of weather was almost comical. He was used to the humid and hot temperatures of the rainforest and had never really experienced the bitter cold of winter. He was treading carefully, trying his hardest not to slip on the frozen ground. His head was almost entirely hidden underneath the big wool scarf he had wrapped around his head as if he had tried to mummify himself with it. His nose and cheeks were reddened from the cold and you could faintly make out the chatter of his teeth. 

It would almost be adorable if he didn’t have the expression of someone who was about to murder the next person who spoke to him.

You bit your tongue to hold back a teasing comment about how he couldn’t handle the cold and instead opted to hold onto his hand that was rather stiffly dangling by his side. He glanced at you over the mountain of a scarf he had wrapped around his neck and immediately saw his expression ease up a little. His brows relaxed became less furrowed and the corners of his mouth twitched upward ever so slightly.

“We’re almost there.” You reassured, which was only met with a slightly grumpy-sounding hum of acknowledgment.

Not long after you arrived at the Tavern. You picked up your room keys and quickly shuffled upstairs to settle down.

Alhaitham quickly kicked off his boots once he sat on the bed and hissed in pain. His toes were borderline glowing in red and blue hues and he wasn’t wearing any socks either. Needless to say, he was wearing his usual boots with the hole at the top. Clearly, everyone could see that they weren’t fit for conditions like these whatsoever.

“You know, these boots are kind of impractical for this weather.” You remarked snarkily. And if looks could kill you would’ve dropped dead on the spot right now.

“Don’t look at me like that!” You shot back before he could usher a word of protest. “You agreed to spend the holidays in Mondstadt after all.”

“And you didn’t think to inform me about all that before we departed?”

“Well, I thought a smart man like you would know that when I said there would be snow in Mondstadt you would naturally conclude that ‘frozen water equals cold’” You remarked in the same snarky tone.

You both looked at each other for a couple of seconds in an intense staring battle. The frown prominent on Alhaitham’s face as he desperately tried to warm his feet with his warm hands. Although eventually, your pokerfaces started showing cracks. The twinkle that started to show in both of your eyes, a twitch of the corner of his mouth, a giggle that was stuck at the back of your throat that you tried to swallow. All of them were telltale signs that your playful argument was about to end in a fit of chuckles, like so often.

And as if on call, you both started laughing out loud at the same moment.

Alhaitham pulled you closer by your hands and you sat down on his lap, facing in his direction. You buried your face in the crook of his neck and slung your arms around him, which he mirrored.

“You’re stupid.” You exclaimed, pressing a quick peck on the exposed skin on his neck.

“Oh, am I now?” He retorted smugly, raising one eyebrow.

“Well, I’m not the one who wore boots with gaping holes in them when there are five inches of snow outsi–” Before you were able to finish the sentence, he quickly began loosely wrapping his thick scarf around your face, effectively shutting you up.

“Rude.” You giggled, muffled by the thick fabric. “Now–” You began, once you had pulled his scarf off your face again. “How about we take a hot bath and then go and visit the Christmas market?”

You could see his eyes wander towards the window. He skeptically eyed the thick snowflakes that were still falling from the sky. Anyone would be able to tell that he really didn’t want to go outside anymore, at least not in this weather.

“I know it’s freezing, but – if we go out, we can go buy you a pair of warm boots and I also know just the thing to fight the cold.” You intercepted before he could usher any words of protest. And after a brief moment of hesitation, he agreed with a loving smile.

After a steaming hot bath, you both found yourself back outside again. Not long after Alhaitham also waded through the thick snow with his newly acquired cozy and warm leather boots and some additional heat-insulating wool socks. He already looked a lot more comfortable than he had when you arrived here.

You walked in the direction of the Christmas market that was being held at the feet of the statue of the Anemo Archon, in front of the cathedral. 

Hand in hand you climbed the stairs up to the plaza. You could already make out the Christmas spices that wafted through the air before you could even see the first booth. And with every step you took your excitement got bigger and bigger. Your heart was thumping loudly inside of your chest and you felt an excited prickle in the pit of your stomach. The last time you were at a Christmas market was ages ago, so you were practically bursting with excitement.

Once you arrived at the top of the stairs, you headed straight for the stand of the Dawn Winery, dragging Alhaitham along with you excitedly. You could already make out the prominent scent of mulled wine and several other hot beverages. No matter how cold the winter was, a cup of mulled wine was always the best thing to warm one up from the inside out.

You bought two mugs of steaming hot spiced dandelion wine and handed one to Alhaitham. He skeptically took a sip, unsure about whether or not hot wine would taste as good as the stuff he was so used to. But when his eyes widened and a surprised hum escaped him you could only chuckle. You had expected this reaction.

“You didn’t lie, this really helps against the cold.” He remarked after taking a couple more sips from his mug.

“See! I told you so. And as you know, I’m always right.” You teased, to which he just rolled his eyes and huffed amusedly. “Don’t you dare say anything now, Haitham.”

He stepped closer to you, embracing you in a tight hug and pressing a quick kiss to your forehead.

“You know, you’re lucky you’re so cute, or else–”, he paused dramatically, not intending to finish his sentence any time soon.

“Or else, what?” You asked, perking your eyebrows.

But Alhaitham had already ventured off to look at the market stalls with a smirk plastered on his lips. He just knew which buttons he needed to press to tease you. And clearly, you wouldn't be getting an answer out of him either.

“Dork.” You huffed, hurrying after him, interlocking your arm with his, leaning your head on his shoulder as you walked around the plaza with your warm mugs in hand.

DILUC

Christmas time was always the busiest time of the year for the Winery and the Tavern. Diluc was basically shipping out orders all day when he wasn’t at the Angel’s Share. During these times you always made sure to help him alleviate some of the stress by taking some work off his hands.

Today you filled in for someone at the Christmas Market stand of the Dawn Winery who fell ill. Your job was to man the booth for the mulled wine and punches and serve them to customers. 

It was the last weekend before Christmas and therefore the Christmas Market was packed to the brim. You barely got any time to take a break and only noticed that it was time to close up shop as soon as Diluc stood before you.

He helped you serve the last remaining customers and clean up the booth before you both started making your way back home to the Winery.

It had already gone dark outside now and the Christmas lights on the windowsills of the houses by the streets wrapped the environment into a warm light. 

Diluc’s hand that was intertwined with yours was comfortably warm like it always was. You could feel it even through your thick gloves.

Both were a stark contrast to the thick snow that crunched below your boots and the cold icy air that pricked at your skin. Every exhale created a little cloud of icy mist in front of your face.

Diluc squeezed your hand a little tighter all of a sudden and nudged his head towards the left, motioning you to follow along.

“Come with me.” He urged, an excited smile playing around his lips.

He led you out of the side gate of Mondstadt, near the Angel’s Share, and headed straight for the frozen lake. He let go of your hand and right in the next moment he was already slithering across the ice with a huge smile plastered on his face

“What are you doing?” You inquired curiously, eyeing him from head to toe as he looked at you expectantly. He stretched one hand out while putting the other behind his back, making him look unbelievably elegant.

“Join me!” 

The way he had slithered across the ice had looked so graceful and almost easy. But you had the inkling it wouldn’t end up being as easy as he made it look.

The way the snowflakes peacefully danced around you both in the yellow light of the nearby lantern made this scene almost feel dreamlike.

There was a comfortable silence in the air right now. As if the Gods had draped a white blanket over the world that muffled everything but the most important sounds. Only yours and Diluc’s steady breathing could be heard, as well as the rustling of the snow-covered trees by the shore and the soft pitter-patter of the falling snowflakes.

You stepped closer to the frozen surface of the lake and carefully put one foot on it to test the waters – or more accurately: the ice. And as expected it was extremely slippery and you almost fell the second you tried standing on it.

Diluc had come closer again and wrapped both his hands around your waist to steady you on the ice. He took hold of your hands and carefully pulled you along with him for a few meters. 

It looked like he was floating over the ice while you looked like a newborn foal that was trying to stand up for the first time in its life. Your knees were shaking and you tried your hardest to not lose your balance. But despite that the mere presence of Diluc made you feel safe.

“Why are you so good at this?” You inquired curiously, almost losing your balance once more.

“I used to do this every winter as a child. Whenever my father caught me he scolded me for what felt like hours because I could hurt myself. Although that never deterred me from doing it again every winter.” He explained amusedly as his ruby-red eyes began shimmering in the dim light of the lantern.

“Well then, is there some special technique to it? Because I feel like I’m going to fall on my butt the minute you let go of me.”

“I’ll simply not let go of you then.” He retorted with a smirk and you could feel how his grip on your waist tightened. “In all seriousness though, don’t bend your knees inward so much. Keep them straight and your soles flat on the ice. Then only bend your upper body forward a little bit.”

“Roger that.” You replied and did as he explained. And much to your surprise, you stance on the ice immediately felt a lot more safe. Your knees stopped shaking and you were able to stand somewhat comfortably now.

“Yes, just like that!”

“It works!” You exclaimed.

“Now, try moving your feet, while keeping this stance.” He instructed while slowly letting go of you, leaving you some room to move once he was sure you could stand on your own. 

He demonstrated the movement to you and you followed him by mirroring them.

Not long after you were still insecurely but steadily moving across the ice.

“Look, I’m doing it!” You yelled excitedly, looking back at Diluc who was watching you with the utmost adoration in his eyes.

“Indeed you are.” He answered proudly as he joined you again, slithering behind you and putting his hands on your waist once more. He carefully pushed you along with him.

You twirled around on the ice with a giggle and it felt like you were two figure skaters in perfect unison, showcasing their breathtaking performance. Although you were sure it looked much more amateurish than it felt. No less, because you weren't actually wearing any ice skates. But at that moment, it didn't matter.

Both of you basked in each other's presence and it felt like you let your inner child run free. The endorphin rush was indescribable. You felt practically invulnerable.

You soon felt comfortable enough to do pirouettes on the ice all by yourself. You had found the right balance to move across the ice and could even move faster than you did before.

You let go of Diluc’s hand and started circling across the surface of the frozen lake. Faster and faster you slithered across the ice.

The problem came about when you wished to come to a halt again. You never asked Diluc how you were able to stop again once you had built some momentum.

And before you had the chance to ask him you slithered and fell face first into one of the big puffy snowbanks that had piled up at the shore.

Snow immediately covered you, got stuck in your hair, fell on your face, seeped into every crevice of your clothes, and made contact with your skin. The icy sensation felt like needles pricking at your skin.

You heard Diluc yell your name muffledly and could make out hurried slithers that came in the direction of where you had fallen. He worriedly pulled you up to your feet again by your hands, patting the snow off your clothes and hair softly.

“Are you alright? I'm so sorry I should've paid more attention. Did you hurt yourself?” He was fussing over you as if you had just fallen down a cliff instead of a bed of soft, albeit cold, snow.

You giggled at his worried expression and slung your arms around his neck, looking intensely at his beautiful eyes.

“I'm alright. Don't worry about me. Although maybe I'm a bit cold now – some snow crept its way into my clothes, I fear.” You pouted with a giggle.

He wordlessly took your hands in his and removed the gloves from your fingers, intertwining his warm ones with yours. You made out a faint flare from the vision on his hip before you felt warmth seep into every fiber of your body, warming you up from the inside out.

“Be careful or you'll melt me.” You teased with a wide smirk. 

At that, he brought his face closer to yours, with an equally wide smile, before ushering: “Only your heart” against your lips, before passionately catching them into a deep kiss.

Do not repost, copy, translate or edit - © dustofthedailylife || reblogs, comments, and asks about Genshin or my fics are always greatly appreciated and motivate me! Maple dividers are mine - do not copy.

[talaok]

The perfect bunny

Pairing: Joel Miller x ff!reader

Summary: Christmas with Joel and bunny (for context joel is the boss of a group of criminals in the Boston QZ, and you are his girl)

Warnings: rushed writing, unprotected p in v sex, and a whole lot of fluff

A/n: Happy holidays guys, I love you all so very very much❤️

This is part of a series but it can be read alone. If you wanna read more of Joel and bunny, click here

He had done everything.

Everything you asked for, he had made come true.

Your house was filled with every Christmas decoration he had found in the whole QZ, garlands, mistletoe, little raindeers and Santa clauses overfilled your shelves, and then right there, in the middle of the living room, was the centerpiece... the tree, filled to the brim with ornaments you had put up together, as a family, because that's what you were, you and him, a family.

He even went as far as finding an old cd with christmas songs, all because you mentioned once how much you missed hearing them.

You'll never know what you did to deserve him, to deserve such unconditional, pure love, but what you didn't know is that he felt exactly the same, that the reason he did everything you asked, always, was because you had saved him in more ways he could have ever explained.

And now, now in a world gone to hell, in a world that in many ways wasn't even a world anymore, where people didn't live, but survived, thanks to him, and thanks to you, you were alive again, and you were celebrating Christmas in a way you thought had become unimaginable.

"this is for you" you grinned, handing him his neatly packaged present.

You were sat under the tree as you had insisted, having ignored his protests about his achy back.

"for me?" he asked, his excitement piercing through his tone.

He hadn't gotten a gift in years if he didn't count you, so of course he was happy.

"yes daddy, all for you" You nodded eagerly

"mhh" he hummed, unwrapping it with care, his lips splitting into one of those huge, almost childish smiles he didn't grant himself often enough.

"20,000 Leagues Under the Sea" he breathed, grasping the book as if it was the most precious treasure on this earth "Where did you even find this?"

You chuckled, leaning closer to him "You're not the only one who people answer to around here Miller"

"'s that right?" he smirked, amused

"damn right" you laughed, leaving a quick peck on his lips "You like it?"

"I love it bunny" he answered in a second, still smiling wholeheartedly "I can't believe you remembered, thank you"

"of course I remembered" you grinned, shaking your head before he brought his lips to yours again to show you just how grateful he was, which according to the way he didn't seem in any way willing to lean away, was a whole lot.

You giggled, breaking the kiss

"I've got you something too, baby"

Your eyes widened, every feature of yours brightening with glee.

"you did?" you smiled "I thought the ones you gave me this morning were my gifts" you murmured giddily.

"Not a chance bunny" he shook his head, stroking your cheek "Making you come is just as much your pleasure as it is mine"

You hummed in contentment, biting your bottom lip as he fished something out of his pajama pants, handing you a tiny wrapped something.

You took it in your hands, looking up at him with joy.

"I know the wrapping's not great," he said, a little self-conscious now that he saw what a gorgeous package you'd made him

"What are you talking about?" you reassured him "It's perfect, daddy"

You held your breath as you opened it, remaining immobilized at the sight before you once the paper was all gone.

It was a necklace. A tiny silver necklace, with the cutest bunny hanging at the bottom.

Your eyes filled with tears as you looked up at him, your hands shaking ever so little.

"Joel" you whispered, at a loss for words "This is... this is beautiful" you breathed "H-how did you even get it?"

"had to make just a few people mad, but that's about it" he shrugged, relishing in the amazement on your face.

"A few people?" you couldn't help but laugh, a small tear fleeing your eye "I-I don't know what to say, baby, this is- this is gorgeous"

"you don't have to say anything" he promised, "c'mon, let's go to the mirror so I can put it on you"

And so, with wobbly legs, you followed him to the mirror a few feet away at the entrance of your home.

He stepped beside you, and you handed him the piece, watching as he put it on you with care, leaving a little kiss on your shoulder when he was done.

And of course, it sat perfectly right between your chest, a little piece of him to carry everywhere you went.

"Joel I love it" you whispered "It's-it's perfect"

He hummed contently, his chin on your shoulder as he looked at your reflection

"A perfect bunny for my perfect bunny"

A smile erupted on your face at his words, and you couldn't help but turn around, towards him, towards the love of your life.

"thank you" you murmured, your hands on each side of his face, "thank you so much"

And then again, you were kissing, kissing as if there was no tomorrow, your lungs burning from how much oxygen you were robbing them of.

"I love you bunny" he breathed, earning another kiss

"I love you too, Joel" you promised, looking into his loving eyes for another moment before deciding on something.

"sit down," you said

"sit down?" he frowned, watching you confusedly

"just do it daddy" you laughed, taking his hand and guiding him to the couch

he did as told, his legs spread open and his eyes trained on you.

You could feel his gaze burn a hole in the back of your head as you walked over to the stereo to turn the volume up, a Christmas song flowing through the room better now.

"whatcha doing bunny?" he asked "You sure as hell better not be planning on handcuffing me again"

You laughed at that, and at the memory of the despair in his eyes that night.

"I'm not, daddy, don't worry" You smiled walking up to him until you were right in front of him,

"no, then what are you doing darlin'?"

"I'm thanking you" you said sweetly, your hips starting to gently move in synch with the sound

"'s that right?" he murmured, his eyes falling to your chest as you started unbuttoning the falnnel oh his covering it "what for?"

"mh" you hummed, smiling as you let the shirt fall to the floor "for everything daddy" you explained, slowly turning around and shimmying your shorts off your legs, making a show of bending down to pick them up just to throw them to your left.

he groaned at the sight, and you couldn't help but giggle, spinning back around.

"goddamn bunny" he purred, taking in every inch of your body as you started playing with the straps of your bra, forcing them to fall off your shoulders painfully slowly.

You looked as he watched every movement of yours like a hawk, and you would have teased him further if it wasn't that you were supposed to be thanking him.

So without any further ado, you undid the clasp of your bra, and let it fall to your feet, a soft "fuck" escaping his throat.

Next came your panties.

Your hips were still moving to the music as your fingers seeped through the waistband, gripping at the edge of them and then slowly pulling down, until they pooled at your feet making Joel's cock feel a moment away from bursting.

You smiled, wordlessly placing a hand on his shoulders to prop yourself up as you straddled his lap, his mouth immediately finding yours.

"thank you daddy" you whispered, kissing his cheek "Thank you for the necklace" Another kiss, now on right below his ear "Thank you for the decorations" now down his neck, your breath tickling his skin "for sitting under the tree even if your back hurts" you couldn't resist the urge to chuckle, your hands now trailing to his pants "thank you for the cd" again, another kiss on his neck, before you freed his cock from his pants, and looked up at him "thank you for everything daddy"

His cock slipped into you with ease, and he groaned loudly as you started moving on top of him, a position he didn't get to feel much (by his own volition), and you moaned into his mouth as you kissed him.

"thank you daddy" you continued, your words messy and breathy as you picked up your pace "for everything you do for me everyday" you said, his cock feeling every bit as good as ever "for- for listening to me" you moaned "and taking care of me" his dick was so deep you could feel it in your belly, hitting your g-spot with each of your movements "and for letting me take care of you" you smiled, as he gripped your waist, savoring the sight before him "t-thank you so much daddy" you breathed, embarrassingly enough slowing down, your thighs on fire.

"you're tired" he murmured with amusement

"no 'm not" You shook your head, trying to pick up your pace and failing miserably

"no?" he asked, smirking like a bastard

"no" you denied again, smiling a little at your obvious lie

"lay down bunny" he tried to persuade you

"no way" you protested "I'm supposed to be treating you daddy, to be thanking you"

"trust me this pussy of yours is enough of a thank you for a million lives"

"daddy..." you pouted, trying to convince him

"what if I just help out a bit, hm?" he asked, watching your eyes brighten

"just a bit" you accepted, and in a moment, he was thrusting up into you, and only a moment later, you were moaning loudly at the feeling, the thought of doing all the work well out the window.

"thank you daddy" you cried, "I love you so much" you promised, your orgasm taking over you

"thank you babygirl" he grunted "for being in my life" he said, his words falling into your gaped mouth "for making everything better"

"for being you" he breathed, watching as you came all over his cock "for being the best thing that ever happened to me, bunny"

[cilliansmesoftly]

like a wrecking ball

pairing: john/buck egan x fem!reader

summary: you send buck sensual photos while he’s stationed

warning: talk of nude photos, dirty talk, sensual letters, inaccuracies about war, smut, oral (first time munching box 🐱) (fem! receiving), overstimulation, etc.

ੈ✩‧₊˚ what started off as marge taking pictures of you getting ready for a party, putting on lipstick and fluffing up your hair, ended with you asking marge if you could borrow her camera for a couple of days to take some photos for buck.

it was all in good fun. some ones with you crossed eyed, smiling, goofy and carefree. however, something possessed you to slip the strap of your dress off your shoulder click take the clip from your hair, letting down your loose, soft hair click and snap the clasp from your bra click.

you don’t know what came over you. you took over fifteen pictures in sensual poses, as if posing for a professional boudoir photoshoot. gosh, if anyone ever saw these, you thought. they’d have me carted off to the brothel or put into an asylum.

and what’s worse than that, you’d mustered up the courage to actually send them! with your stationary neatly stacked at your desk, your ink pen furiously wrote to your deployed lover.

My Love, I hear the war is getting harder. There’s no telling what you have to attest to that statement, they say Germany is killing our Air Force and I can’t help but to think of you. Fighting your hardest, having trouble sleeping at night, losing friends, losing family.

And even in all of this, I still feel sorry for myself for missing you. Everyone notices how miserable I am without you here. Without your touch, your smile, your kiss. Golly, even my mother visits! And you know how she is with me and boys, totally mentally insane.

Anywho, how is my love? And how is Gale? Marge misses him terribly. She has a sneaky suspicion that he is going to ask her to marry him.. though I think she may be going a bit stir crazy from not being with him, but who am I to talk?

Our girls are doing our best here, I work the soup kitchen most days for the people out of jobs and soldiers who have come home injured. My classes are going terribly, my focus only seems to train on you and what you’re doing, and if you’re safe.

I’m sending some pictures for you, John. Marge let me borrow her camera and the film just got back to me today, so I hope you enjoy. I miss you, love. I can’t wait for you to be back in my arms and within my reach. For now, take these photos and do with them what you like. Imagine me there, John. Just how I imagine you here with me. Oh, and please, please, please, do not let anyone see these!

Your Girl,

Y/N

you kissed the letter with scarlet stained lips, enclosed the envelope set with your photos, and sent it off, staring out of the window as the mailman carried it off to be shipped overseas, in the air, and into john’s trusted hands.

★

“mail!” a soldier shouted in the quiet cafeteria. men, all in matching green uniforms, scrambled to get up and horde the poor guy. he passed letters and packages around, assigning them with a last name shouted before he handed it to the rightful owner. “egan.” he said, dropping a single envelope signed with pretty cursive writing on the front.

“who’s it from?” gale asked sarcastically. he knew his friend was smitten with his girl from back home and she was one of the few- or rather only- person he took the time to write to.

“take a guess, clevens.” john replied smugly, tearing open the letter quite clumsily, the tear all jagged and the envelop ripped down the corner. out of that tear, a photo caught the eye of john. he squinted. “she sent photos.” he told gale.

“really? marge never sends me photos.” he mutters jealously. gale watched his friend’s face blush a bright red, a small smile playing at the corner of his lips. “what? what is it?”

“that’s for me to cherish, and for you… to never find out.” john smiled up at his friend. he took one of the many pictures out of the envelope completely and turned it many ways to look at all perspectives of your beauty. the way your hair fell over your eyes as you gazed lustfully at the camera lens. the way the intricate lace of your bra strap led down to the see-through fabric over your breast. he could see you perfectly. though the camera isn’t the most expensive and definitely not the most defined, john could tell you took your time making sure these photos were worth his while.

“damn, major. who is this beautiful dame?” lieutenant curtis was peaking over john’s shoulder and john slammed the picture down onto the table before he could see anymore of his girl.

“that’s mine, curt. you’ll have to find your own.” curtis made a booing sound and walked off playfully glum. “god, this girl’s gonna be the death of me.”

“are you gonna explain or am i gonna have to snatch the picture while you aren’t looking?” gale asked, running a hand through his blond hair.

“you ain’t seeing the pictures, nobody’s seein’ them but me.” john shook his head, a light blush still creeping up his neck, up his ears. “she sent nudie pictures.” he laughed under his breath, shoving the pictures deep into his pocket.

“what? let me see!” gale leaned forward, smiling from cheek to cheek.

“what?” john scoffed. “hell, no. i’m gonna marry this girl.” he leaned back away from the table, so gale couldn't grab him and force the photos out of his pocket. “hell, i ain’t even read the letter yet.”

“better get to writing a hell of a response. she won’t send anymore if you send some half-assed letter back, man.” gale laughed, taking a sip of coffee.

john finally took the letter out of the envelope, it still smelled like her. he brought it up to his nose and thought fondly of his beautiful girl back home. he missed her more than anything. unfolding the parchment, he smiled at her greeting, her penmanship was unlike any other. curling, twirling cursive letters filled the page and he caught a glimpse of the lipstick mark at the bottom of the page. oh, to kiss her lips again, buck thought.

his eyes scanned every word more than twice. he could hear her voice within the written words.

“she asked how you were doing.” buck told gale whose eyebrows lifted in gratefulness. “she also says that marge thinks you’re going to ask her to marry you.”

“damn it!” gale huffs, leaning his head back to look at the ceiling. “how does she know?”

“don’t know, man.” john laughs as he takes out a piece of paper from his pocket, always on hand for something like this, when he has to get to work immediately on writing you back.

My Beautiful Girl,

There’s nothing I want more than to be with you right now. In my arms, in my bed, all alone. No one but us, my sweet girl.

When I get back, I’m going to keep you to myself for a whole week. And those pictures? I never knew you to be so dirty. You should’ve seen my face when I opened up the envelope. I was about as red as a ripe tomato.

I long for nothing more than to kiss those sweet lips, your shoulders, your smooth legs, all of you. I am going to come home to you. I’m gonna crash through the front door and hold onto you until forever falls apart. There’s only a few more months until we’re together again, for good, hopefully.

And to answer your questions, I’m doing okay. we’re losing a lot of men, really quickly. I can’t help but to keep offering to go on missions, just so it doesn’t go haywire. Gale is also planning on asking Marge to marry him, but don’t you dare tell her. He was doing great until I told him about her correct accusations. He is currently laying his head down on the table and holding his hands to his head in despair.

My girl, I love you so much. Trust in this, I am always yours and no one will see these pictures but me, admiringly. I always imagine you with me. You’re with me when I sleep at night, when I’m up in the air, and especially in my heart. You keep me safe without even knowing, angel.

Love, John

★

just as john said in his letter, a few months and he’d be home. months turn into weeks, weeks turned into days, and days turned into hours. today was the day and you had been preparing since the sun first rose in the morning.

marge had also been on edge, their plane was to arrive at the tarmac at three in the afternoon. you and marge spent the day scrubbing, shaving, spritzing, and dressing. after that, you spent a few minutes straightening up the house and making sure there was some food warming up for him when he got home. even so, the hangar was only a few minutes down the road.

it was about a quarter past two now and marge was supposed to be with you about fifteen minutes ago. to say you were antsy would be a major understatement. you couldn’t keep the ball of your heel from bouncing on the floor, your poor nails had been chewed off hours ago.

a knock on the door knocked you out of your anxious daze and you sprang up from the couch to answer it.

marge’s glowing face entered your sight and you sighed in relief.

“you’re late.” you hugged your best friend tightly, then ran into the kitchen to grab your purse before meeting marge on the porch, closing and locking the door.

“i know, i’m sorry. i really don’t have an excuse, i was just so anxious so i drove a bit slower.” she admitted, which helped you feel a lot better. at least you weren’t alone.

“we shouldn’t be this nervous, really.” you sighed, walking down the sidewalk to marge’s car. you opened the door and sat in the passenger seat. marge followed suit and sat in the driver’s side, quickly cranking the key and speeding off to the airport. the plane was due to arrive at three, so you only had about fifteen minutes until you got to see your favorite person in the world.

"should we stand at the gate or try to get onto the actual tarmac?" marge questioned, looking around at all the other wives and girlfriends standing around.

"there's a guard at the gate, we'll just ask him if we can get in." you pointed at the man in a vest, a security badge pinned to his chest. you and marge waltzed up to the man with kind smiles painted on your lips. "hi, sir. how are you today?"

"just fine, and yourselves?" the man smiled warmly.

"absolutely dandy." marge grinned. "so, listen, we were just wondering. are we allowed to go onto the tarmac or do we have to wait behind the gate?"

"i can allow you on the tarmac, but do you see those cones over there?" he pointed behind him to bright orange cones lined up down the asphalt. the girls hummed in agreement. "you can't get more than thirty feet near them. that's where the plane will land and roll in and i will not be taking responsibility for a bunch of soldiers' wives getting run over because they decided not to listen, understand?" the man looked back to the women who nodded with wide eyes. "okay, let me open this." he fished a key out of his pocket and unlocked the gate, pushing it open so the girls could come in and await their loves.

marge checked the gold watch on her wrist. "should be about five minutes, y/n."

"i feel like i need to puke. do you feel like you have to puke?" you sputtered out quickly and marge placed her hands on your shoulders to calm you down.

"hey, there's nothing to be nervous about. john is a good man, a good man who misses you, okay? you have nothing to worry about except getting pregnant in the next twenty-four hours." marge giggled when you gasped.

"marge! watch your mouth or they'll carry you away." you two laughed before the distant sound of a plane rattled the ground beneath your feet. you looked up and there it was. the plane that carried your john back to you, safe and sound. you sighed, saying a quick prayer, before watching the plane land safely and roll into the hangar.

the wives were muttering relentlessly. it had been a few minutes since the plane got here and no soldiers had yet to step out. but finally, finally, a group of men all dressed in matching green jumpsuits and carrying the same bag came running out of the hangar in search of their reasons for fighting as hard as they did. marge spotted gale, his golden blonde hair flowing in the wind as he ran to her. he scooped her up in his arms, kissing her like it was from a movie. y/n laughed and clapped for her best friends, but she couldn't help but wonder where john was.

"hey, y/n. how are ya, girl?" gale walked up to the worrisome girl with his arm around marge's waist.

"i'm fine, gale! oh, we've missed you and john so much." she sighed as he wrapped his free arm around her in an embrace. "where is john, by the way?"

gale looked behind him and there he was, almost as if in slow motion. he was just as dreamy as the day she met him.

before she could stop herself, her feet picked up a quick pace and soon enough she was running to him, grinning and laughing. when she reached him, he dropped his duffle bag onto the floor and pulled her into his arms, lifting her off the ground and spinning her around.

“oh, my sweet y/n.” john muttered into her hair. she smelled so good. she smelled like home. he missed her like hell. and if she wasn’t half of his heart, there’s no way he would’ve survived. “i missed you so much.”

he let her down so her feet could touch the ground, but made no move to let her out of his embrace. y/n cupped the sides of his face and brought him into a searing kiss. a kiss that said everything she couldn’t. how grateful she was that he was home, that he’s safe, back in her arms. “i missed you so much more.”

“not possible.” he said against her lips.

“hey, if y’all don't mind i’d like to go home!” gale shouted at the couple, teasingly. marge playfully slapped him against his chest in scolding. he just laughed and grabbed her hand, leading her back to the gate.

“i guess we should go.” y/n sighed against him. john pouted and whined dropping his head to her shoulder. “the faster we get home, the faster you get to see all the new pictures i have.”

with that, he grabbed his bag off the ground and y/n’s hand, leading her to marge and gale, albeit very quickly.

★

marge dropped y/n and john off at her home, speeding off with a wave out of the window.

“i missed this place.” john said, looking up at the small house. y/n grabbed his hand gently and led him up the stairs of the porch. when they walked in, it smelled of a home cooked meal and pure love to john. “what’d you make, angel?”

“some steak,” she replied, walking in front of him to open the oven that was keeping the food warm. she felt john’s presence behind her, warm and inviting. “potatoes,” john wrapped his arms around her waist, his lips tickling the nape of her neck. her breath hitched as she leaned back against him. “and i baked a pie.”

“mmm, what kind?” his lips were right near her ear and he kissed the skin behind it, a light gasp leaving her pretty lips.

“cherry.”

“my favorite.” he turned her around and captured her lips in a kiss, lost in her already. she was breathless. this is all she had been waiting for, yearning every day and even worse at night. she missed his touch, his kiss, his everything. “those photos you sent drove me crazy, baby. took everything i had not to just tape it to the windshield of my plane.”

“there’s more.” she whispered, his lips all over her neck, sucking bruises that she would have to hide with a turtle neck. “you wanna see?”

he growled against her skin as she dragged him into the bedroom. she pushed him to sit on the bed, noticing the already prominent bulge in his green army pants. she kneeled down between his legs, eye contact heavy between them. john shifted where he sat, ready for anything she was about to give him. instead, she reached for the black box under her bed and placed it on his thighs.

“open it.” she sat back on her calves, watching him open the box with a brow lifted quizzically.

inside were more than 30 developed pictures, in all their vulgar glory. john let out a sigh and sat up straighter. he picked up a few and sorted through them, y/n was posed with a white lacy set adorning her body and light makeup on her face. she was in front of a mirror, playing with herself. she could hear his breath catch in his throat. he stared at each photo, getting harder by the second.

“do you like them?” she asked, he brought his attention back down to his girl. her big doe eyes looking pleading and seductive at the same time. she was still sitting back on her legs and the way she had her hands clasped in front of her made her arms push her breasts together, giving john a teasing view of her cleavage.

“like them? b-baby, i want these burned into my memory.” he stuttered over his words and that’s how y/n knew she had him wrapped around her finger. the usually stoic, firm, but kind man she fell in love with is gradually falling apart at the seams, all because of her. “y’know what, though?”

“hm?”

“i think i prefer the live action version.” the smirk on his face was deep, setting smile lines onto the left side of his face.

“well, good thing you got it for the rest of your life, baby.” she sat up on her legs, placing her hands on the tops of his thighs for stability. john leaned in to kiss her, but she pulled back. he groaned, his mouth open and waiting for her to crash into him.

“i’d rather you not tease me right now, angel.” he breathed against her lips. y/n just giggled and took the box from his lap, placing it back under the bed. she stood to her full height and john wrapped his arms around her hips, letting her sit herself on his lap. she gasped when she felt how aroused he was. “kiss me.”

“not yet.” she smiled, leaning away from his lips. “let me undress you?”

john agreed and let her pull his shirt from where it was tucked into his pants. she flung the fabric somewhere behind her and giggled. his toned chest was warm and soft, she grazed her fingers over every freckle and mole that she had missed so much, kissing over every one she saw. she let her hands drag down to his belt that she skillfully unbuckled while maintaining eye contact with her lover.

john was going absolutely insane, he had never seen this side of her before. so powerful, so in tune with both of their bodies, and ever so confident. he was enchanted.

“can we try something?” he asked suddenly when she pulled his belt through the last loop.

“what’s that, baby?” she started to kiss his neck, licking and sucking all over the soft skin and john moaned while trying to get his words out.

“the g-guys were talking about- fuck, how good it is to eat pussy.” he whined when y/n stopped in her tracks. she detached her lips from his body and leaned back to look at him.

“you wanna try that?” she looked shocked.

john nodded submissively, blush rushing to the tops of his ears and creeping down his neck.

“just lie down, i’ll take care of you.” he cradled her neck in his large hand. he brought the other one to the buttons of her dress, slowly taking each one out. when he caught sight of the bralette adoring her figure, he brought his head down to kiss at the top of her skin and the lacy fabric. “i’m liking all this new underwear, baby.”

“all just for you.” she whispered. she carded her fingers through his hair, her head tilted back in pleasure at the magic he was working on her body. she was soaked and he had barely even done anything.

john took the rest of her dress off and lifted her to stand, it dropped to her feet onto the floor and she stepped out of it. he laid her back down, propping a pillow behind her head.

“you still okay?” he asked, kissing down her belly. her answer was breathy and barely audible, but he heard it, so he continued. his fingers grazed the hem of her white panties, a pink bow adorning the middle. the innocence of it all made john’s head feel dizzy. he slowly dragged her underwear down her legs, savoring every moment with her. “let me know what feels good, honey.”

“oka-” her voice failed her as john brought his lips up to her swollen bud. if he was new at this, he sure was a fast learner. his tongue was circling her clit, but trailed down to her entrance that was sopping with arousal. as soon as he got his first taste, john wrapped his arms around the backs of her thighs and brought her closer to his mouth. “oh, my god.”

“feel good?” he muttered quickly, going back to licking and slurping as if his life depended on it.

“fucking unreal.” her head was thrown back, fingers digging into the pillow behind her. her hips were bucking onto john’s face, forcing his nose to bump her clit. she felt his fingers prodding at her and she mewled, her back arching against the bed. “won’t last, if you do that.”

“that’s the whole point, sweets.” he was smiling against her. her overstimulation was amusing to him.

“wanna come on your cock, baby.” he groaned against her core, sending waves of pleasure through her entire body. her eyes were clenched so tightly, she wouldn’t be surprised if they ended up wrinkled on the lid.

begrudgingly, he pulled back, kneeling in front of her. he made sure to look into her eyes as he sucked his fingers into his mouth, moaning around them at the sweet taste of her. “tastes like honey, baby.”

“i’m sure you taste better.” she flirted back, her eyelashes fluttering. and as much as he would love to shove his cock down her throat, her cunt was much more appealing at the moment.

“maybe tomorrow. tonight’s about you, doll. and how much i missed you.” his belt had already been undone by her, so all he had to do was unbutton them and let them fall to the floor. “do you wanna know how i spent my nights?” he mounted his sweet girl, a knee between her legs and his arms holding himself up to look into her eyes. “i had a room to myself, y’know.. bein’ major comes with some perks. i’d take out those photos you sent me.. every night. like fuckin’ clock work.” she could feel him lining himself up with her entrance. the head of his cock prodding at the greedy hole that was oh so eager to take him. “i’d picture you there, running your hands all over me, like you always do. latchin’ yourself onto me. lovin’ me so good…”

her eyes were sparkling under the warm lights of the lamps on the beside tables. her bottom lip was quivering with need, her back arching up to try and get him to slip into her, but every time she bucked her hips, he would pull just inches away. she was writhing beneath him, aching to have him in her. “bucky, please.”

“hang on, darlin’.” john was smiling ear-to-ear. he knew what he was doing to her, he loved to see her all riled up just for him. “i’d fuck my fist every night to those sweet pictures.. just counting the days until i’d see you again. til i could kiss you again, til i could fuck you again.”

he kissed the side of her neck before thrusting himself all the way into her cunt. the stretch was euphoric to her after not having anything but her fingers, that she could not work as well as john could. she hissed in pleasure as he pulled out, just to the tip, and thrusted in harder, setting a nice and steady pace.

“faster.” she breathed against his lips. he obliged quickly, pressing into her harder and faster than he had before. she was clawing her nails down his back, and he whimpered into her neck. he thought his fantasies were good? this was a hundred times better than anything his mind could’ve conjured up. she was squeezing so tight he could barely pull out, but god was it amazing. he couldn’t make his mind think about anything but her. “you feel so good, buck. better than i dreamed.”

“you been dreamin’ about me too, sweetheart?” he kissed her cheek, chin, and lips. he swiped his tongue over her bottom lip and she opened her mouth wider, letting him taste all around. she could faintly taste herself on his tongue and she moaned at the vulgarity of it all.

john snuck his fingertips down her belly, tracing her skin on the way down to her swollen clit, he circled it in slow, smooth movements. y/n threw her head back with her bottom lip between her teeth.

“cmon baby. give it to me.” he growled in her ear. his hips were losing their rhythm and he refused to come before her. “come for me, darlin’.”

she held her hand to the back of his neck, keeping him latched to her chest. john sucked and bit over her chest, leaving dark marks all along her skin. her thighs were trembling in pleasure as john worked himself faster against her hips. the only sounds in the room were the couple’s lewd and borderline pornographic curses falling from their swollen lips and skin slapping against skin. john could feel her core clenching tighter and tighter and he knew that coil in her belly was about to snap.

“john, i’m coming.” her voiced was pinched as she wrapped her legs around his waist, locking her ankles at his lower back. she moaned even louder as he hit even deeper, hitting that spot inside of her so well, she was seeing stars.

“give me all you got, baby.” he whispered against her chest, his fingers still working circles against her clit. she pressed her nails into his skin, surely leaving bloody red marks all over his freckled back. her climax hit her like a train and then it hit her again and again in the most intense aftershocks she had ever had, she was leaking all over his cock and john look down to where the two of them were connected, wet and slick in both of their arousal. the sight alone had him coming inside of her with a loud groan, and collapsing onto her.

while the two of them caught their breath, john’s head perked up with a mischievous smirk on his face.

“what?” she asked with a cocked eyebrow.

“you still got that camera from marge? i’d love to take some pictures of us that we both can enjoy.”

[astralnymphh]

ct; fluff. slightly suggestive. idk just word-vomit cuteness.

van life w/ gf!ellie in the sweet, globetrotter, 'n kinda trashy way, inspired by the conversation she had with dina in that one van in jackson! being in such consistently small living quarters, the cloth of your lives are intertwined.

her shirts, your sleepwear. “where did you get these shirts, ellie? they're like—magic put-to-sleepers.” your shorts, her activewear. “yes, yes i know i got dirt on them. 'll go wash 'em in the creek. it's fine, babe.” your cups, her cool rock vessel. “babe—babe, thats a crab, not a rock. you put a crab in my favorite mug.” her shoulder, your regular footrest. “—n' if you move ur' feet, i could play you my new song. please?” cue that little two finger tap-tap she does with your ankle, impatient smile on that puppyish face of hers. everything is non-negotiable and comes packaged neatly inside that warm spot you deem love.

there lies a map to the stars on your ceiling; polaroids capturing snapshots of moments otherwise rotten to time—and a literal map of stars, but that's just ellie's interior decorating at hand. “uh, no, stupid—that's 'spose to be the big dipper! not a.. weird, random amalgamation of dots.” who do you think bought that ridiculous glow-in-the-dark marker?

at break of morning, the outside barks—a little dog to keep you company all these years through. “hey! spock! don't chase after the squirrels! do they chase after you?” and fuck that cursed amount of headspace, right? if ellie reaped a penny for every viscous impact of the ceiling against her head when bargaining some intimate alone time with you, she could buy you every star out there. “guess the universe—or this van—doesn't want me to have you t'myself. hmph, but they aren't stopping me, are they?” legs wrapped around her tightly-bound hips as if she could drift off into the markered heavens above her head at any given moment.